


Always Trust a Cat in a Bow-Tie

by osco_blue_fairy



Category: Glee
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, M/M, Romance, fairytale AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-21
Updated: 2012-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-10 10:42:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osco_blue_fairy/pseuds/osco_blue_fairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This isn't your traditional fairy tale where knights ride stallions, huge lizards breathe fire, and damsels are stuck in towers.  This is the 21st century, things have changed.  What this is a story about is a boy and a cat.  From there, it gets interesting.  Klaine; written for the  Friday AU challenge on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part Un: Of Lost Songs and Polka-Dotted Bow-Ties

**Author's Note:**

> Very loosely based off of the Madame d'Aulnoy version of one of my favorite fairytales, The White Cat. This story is now complete! Written because the idea of kitty!Blaine appealed to me and I wanted to bring the story to modern day. Thank you to those who commented!
> 
> Note: This is mostly canon compliant in season 2 with these exceptions: Kurt is still a Cheerio, NBK did not happen, Kurt never went to Dalton and ND defeated them at Sectionals

Let me just begin by saying that this isn’t some fairytale where knights ride brilliant white stallions, huge lizards breathe fire, and poor, waifish and beautiful damsels sit locked up in towers for years waiting for someone to rescue them.  Firstly because that’s all been said and done before, so there’s no need to repeat anything more.  Secondly, this is the twenty-first century; the only white stallions you see people riding in nowadays are the ones with V8 engines, you can’t call any girl ‘damsel’ without either being extremely facetious or at a Renaissance Faire, and while dragons still exist, now they’re the lumbering, insult-spewing, Letterman jacket wearing type.  And Thirdly, because out of all the reasons why this is not your typical fairytale this is the most important and deserves capitalization, this story is about something more than heroic deeds and fair maidens.

This story is about a boy and a cat.  Well, sort of…really, you just need to follow along because I promise, I’ll explain everything.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kurt Hummel was not having a good day.  There were several reasons for this (the Neanderthals roaming the hallways who’d slushied him this morning and ruined his favorite McQueen scarf, the harsh grade he’d gotten back from his English teacher on a paper which told him Mr. Marco was having a ‘down’ day from his recent divorce, and of course Coach Sylvester making him feel fat in his Cheerios uniform…again), but currently it was because of Glee club.  Kurt loved Glee, really he did, even with their insane amounts of drama, unrequited crushes and partner-swapping, but some days he felt like he was literally drowning in a sea of voices too consumed with themselves to even notice he was there.  Today was one of those days, and per usual, it was because Mr. Schuester had a blatant inability to be fair when it came to song distribution.

Last week Mr. Schue had given them an assignment, as was his usual teaching method, to find a song that represented their ‘inner journey’ (Kurt was _sure_ Mr. Schue has used the word ‘journey’ on purpose) as they prepared for Regionals.  As someone who had been through quite the emotional and personal trip already in all his seventeen years, Kurt had actually been excited for this assignment, especially when Mr. Schue had promised that the winner would get their own solo at Regionals.  Yes, Mr. Schue had used that particular lure on them before, but for some reason, Kurt thought that he might just be fair this round.

Sadly, he had not been fair.  Everyone sang (and as they did have quite the talent pool, there were some very good performances to choose from) and Kurt had done an amazing rendition on Hugh Jackman’s _The Boy Next Door_ —and still, there were Finn and Rachel standing up front, trying to defend why their songs had, yet again, awarded them two more solos at Regionals, on top of what they already had.  Kurt knew he shouldn’t have felt cheated or more upset than usual (this was not the first or last time he would feel like something he deserved was ripped away from him), but on top of an already spectacularly shitty day, it was too much.  He grabbed his bag, tried not to look at the ruined scarf he didn’t have the heart to throw away (and failed miserably), and rose from his seat, giving everyone in the room a disdainful glare before he stormed out of the room.  He heard his name called out and ignored them, desperate to just get to his Navigator and for the whole, awful day to be over. 

He didn’t make it even out of the school before a large, beefy shoulder checked him into a row of lockers with enough force he lost his footing.  He grit his teeth and tried not to feel about an inch tall as a glance up told him Karofsky was the one smiling meanly down at him.  Karofksy kicked his bag away and left with his cronies, all exchanging high-fives and victorious homophobic slurs loud enough for Kurt to hear on their way out.  Kurt took a deep breath, ignoring the way his shoulder and arm stung from where they’d collided with the metal lockers, gathered up his things, and continued on his way to his car, his head down so he wouldn’t need to pretend his eyes hadn’t welled up. 

It was a bad day, and the unfortunate thing was that it was also a normal day for Kurt Hummel—he blasted the Wicked soundtrack in his car, his go-to music whenever life in Lima, Ohio got just a little too rough, and made his way back home, wishing for the next day to be better.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Now, Kurt Hummel’s life isn’t all gloom and doom, though the snapshot we’ve just seen might suggest something to the contrary.  That’s the funny thing about teenagers—they can make even a paper cut seem like an injury deserving of deep, introspective thoughts, if given the right mood. 

Kurt Hummel was born different, but into a family that loved him.  His father took some time to adjust, and he’ll be the first to tell you it wasn’t easy trying to find the middle ground between accepting your son for all he was while still reconciling how your own disappointments feel and can make your son feel.  And then finding out those disappointments had never really mattered anyway—it was a complex thing to deal with.  Luckily, Burt Hummel had plenty of time to do so because his son had never compromised who he was (save for that one moment when he first started dating Carole Hudson and there had been so much plaid).  And as for his mother, well, Elizabeth Hummel was one of those rare, universally accepting souls who truly only wanted their loved ones to be happy.  She had played dress up with Kurt, bought him that first pair of sensible heels, and told him stories that had brave knights finding princesses, brave princesses saving knights, and princes finding each other and how that was always all right. 

Kurt’s mother died when he was eight and for a long time, he forgot those stories and the warmth his mother had given to him every day.  But, lucky for him, the step-mother he got was just as kind and rare as his mother; Carole Hudson-Hummel made sure Kurt never felt unwanted and _always_ right.  She and  Finn completed the hole in the Hummel family, and they filled their own gaping wound as well, and Kurt knew he was lucky to have such a wonderful family…even if one Finn Hudson was an obnoxious idiot whom Kurt tried to ignore he had once, for some reason, thought himself in love with. 

Kurt’s friends were also not always so obtuse and self-involved.  In fact, they were generally the best group of people one could hope to find, the type of people you remember years down the road with equal measures fondness and exasperation.  They were the first group of people outside his mother and father who accepted him as he was, even if some took longer than others to realize that.  And he loved them, even Santana Lopez (and you will see why this is said with a qualifier), and they loved him too.  The problem with teenagers though is that they forget this detail when things get bad and unfortunately, as wonderful as some aspects of Kurt’s life are, things became very bad.  Those dragons I mentioned earlier?  Well one in particular had decided to focus his own rage and inner hatred on poor Kurt, and when no one seems to notice or understand, things get dark, no matter the bright spots.

But, remember, I mentioned this story is also about a cat, not just a boy—and that’s where things start to get interesting.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next day proved to be slightly better than the previous, but Kurt still felt heavy and burdened; his shoulders were hunched in preparation of locker slams he knew were lurking around corners somewhere.  He had not been slushied, which meant his vintage Marc Jacobs bag was still fabulous, and he probably wouldn’t be since he was wearing his Cheerios uniform today.  Sue Sylvester was a terrifying woman, but she did provide protection for her Cheerios against the ignoramus idiots at McKinley.  Mercedes and Tina had both had lunch with him and it was nice to gossip with both of them outside of Glee club, and Cheerios practice had gone perfectly—Sue only called them incompetent once and might’ve even smiled a little watching their routine. 

By the time Glee club rolled around, however, Kurt had been shoved into a drinking fountain by Karofsky, likely bruising his hipbone, and was starting to feel the familiar, hopeless cloud wander back over his head.  He hated that cloud and tried his best to ignore it, but once Rachel got up and started harping about people’s voices not blending well with hers in the background swaying, it was fully settled over him.  He sighed and took out his design sketch book and began tracing out cuts for a jacket he saw in Vogue that he was pretty confident he could make for himself.  He happily sketched and ignored how Santana nearly lunged for Rachel when the short diva made some disparaging comments about Santana’s personal life (which wasn’t anything harsher than the truth, but still, probably not Rachel’s smartest comment), but when Mr. Schue called out for their attention, he glanced up like the manners his mother taught him told him to do.

“Guys, guys guys!  We are way too close to Regionals to be fighting like this—now, I know a few of you weren’t happy with how the assignment went yesterday, and maybe you’re right, maybe I am giving too much focus to some of the people in this club over others.”  Kurt rolled his eyes and dropped his gaze back down to his sketch pad as Mr. Schuester uttered out his most predictable ‘we have to work together, I appreciate all of you’ speech.  Kurt practically had this speech memorized with the number of times he’d given it out to New Directions.  “So, I have a new assignment for you.  I want each of you to find a song that fits the last assignment, but it can’t be in the same genre that you picked last time.  So Rachel, no Barbra or Broadway, Finn, no rock, and so on.”

There was a moment of silence before everyone started talking at once—Kurt kept on sketching.

“I thought you said we have to pick songs that make us sound good, or whatever.”  Finn sounded confused and a little worried. 

“Broadway songs are the songs that most aptly portray the struggles and tribulations I have gone through all my life!  Mr. Schuester, you can’t just—!”

“I am not singing some white-toast pop songs!”

“I didn’t know songs were animals and had groups…”

“That’s genus not genres, Brittany—how do you remember that but not how to tie your shoes?”

“—stifling my talent just because some people whine about not getting solos.  Do you know how hard I work for all of my solos?!”

“I swear, Hobbit, if you keep whining about yourself I will personally show where I keep _all_ the razorblades up in my hair!”

Kurt closed his sketch book, glancing around at the chaos that had enveloped the choir room yet again and Mr. Schuester looking lost at how to stop it.  He huffed and set his things down on the floor before climbing up to stand on his chair; he took a deep breath and stuck two fingers in his mouth before giving a long and piercing whistle.  The talking stopped again and Kurt glowered down at the other twelve pairs of eyes in the room as they all turned to look up at him. He tilted his head to the side and gave everyone his very best ice-queen stare and finally spoke his mind.

“Instead of yelling and complaining about the assignment, shouldn’t you all just be happy you have another chance to try and get a solo?  Even though, I admit, it is incredibly unlikely the outcome of this assignment will be any different from the first, I’m sorry to say Mr. Schue, but at least he’s trying to show some semblance of equality.  And, even though I think this is all a huge waste of time, I think all of our in-fighting is a worse distraction from winning at Regionals.”  He took a deep breath and stepped down from his chair, grabbing his bag from the ground and daring anyone, even Mr. Schue, to try and say anything.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a song to find.”

And, not without a little bit of flair, he stomped out of the choir room for the second time that week—he actually felt a little better.  It felt good to get out some of his hurt and frustration at his bullying situation with Karofsky and the fact that he was seventeen and felt as lonely as a pining widower.  Even if that meant throwing Mr. Schuester under the bus—actually, that was a bonus.  He had a slight bounce to his step and encountered no one on his walk back to his Navigator, which meant he was in a good mood as he drove to his favorite music store.

Rosie’s Records was an old store that sold just as many dusty records as it did CDs and tapes; it was in the middle of a strip of storefronts in Lima’s ‘old-town’ district; Kurt liked shopping at the different antique and specialty shops when he was looking for something unique, whether that was clothing or music.  His mother had loved that record store and had taken him there hundreds of times when he’d been little; Rosie still remembered Kurt and his mother whenever he stopped in and would always give him a hug when he stopped in.  There was a small area outside her shop that Kurt liked to sit in as well; he hesitated to call it a park because it was about as big as the record store itself, but there were a few trees, flowerbeds, and small walkways that had a number of benches to sit on.  There was a half-hidden alcove off to the side of the record shop that he remembered eating ice cream with his mother as she hummed all different kinds of songs to him—it was a nice place to go and have quiet.

When he got to the storefronts and found parking outside one of the vintage collector shops, he saw that the record shop had a ‘be right back’ sign on the door; he debated going home and looking for something through his own music, but going home meant tomorrow would be here too soon.  He grabbed his bag and headed across the street to the small park, nearly tripping over a cat as he went; he pulled out his phone and shot a quick text to his dad to let him know where he was before silencing the phone and shoving it to the bottom of his bag.  He walked down the entrance pathway in the park and then hooked a right past a small, vine covered wall that partially hid a white bench from view.  He sank down and was content to rest his head back against the honeysuckle growing along the wall, enjoying the quiet hum of the record shop’s air condition unit and a lone mockingbird up in one of the trees. 

Kurt wasn’t one for pity-parties, but he indulged in a small woe-is-me tirade inside his head for a few moments.  Woe that his mother was dead, woe that he wasn’t the son his father may have wanted (even though he was mostly over that one due to his dad’s amazing acceptance); woe that he was never going to have a competition solo with New Directions and woe that he was a gay boy growing up in Ohio.  Woe that he was likely going to go his entire high school career without ever having a boyfriend or a kiss that counted (because Brittany’s kisses certainly did not count).  That one stung the worst lately—it was hard sitting in the choir room during Glee rehearsals and seeing Tina wrapped up on Mike’s lap and not feel a twinge of jealousy.  Quinn and Sam had been sickeningly adorable when they’d been going out, and now she was constantly draped over Finn as Rachel shot longing fazes their way, gazes she never had to worry the wrong person might see.  Artie and Brittany had been sweet and Kurt was a little ashamed to say he was glad they had broken up because then there was at least one less couple he had to see—though, watching Santana not-so-secretly pine for Brittany wasn’t fun for anyone.

Kurt didn’t think he was one of those people who felt like he had to be with someone, but he still longed for it, dreamt about it, wished for it.  He’d never felt the rush of realizing the person you liked, liked you back or the sparks of a first kiss that mattered.  He comforted himself with the thought that he could have those in New York but…that was years away still.  It wasn’t fair he had to wait until then to experience anything real.  He sighed and started to dream of someone who would be as brave, like his dad said, who wouldn’t worry about what others would think and would be proud to be with him, and it was just starting to seem like a possible fantasy when he felt something warm and soft brush up against his shin.

He sat up and jerked out of his daydream and looked down, eyes wide as his surprise coursed its way through him.  Down, sitting ever so politely by his feet was a snowy-white cat, maybe the same he nearly tripped over in the road, a fluffy tail twitching gently behind it and great golden eyes blinking up at Kurt.  The cat was pure white, save for the black patches on its feet and some black markings alongside the top of its head—it had a bow-tie on for a collar, one that was dark blue with maroon trim all along it.  Kurt smiled as the last of his surprise left him, and leant down to the bow-tie, fingering the name tag that looked like silver and was attached to the bow-tie.  “Blaine?”

The cat purred in response to his name and nudged at Kurt’s leg again.  Kurt laughed and started scratching along the cat’s ears and neck, his smile widening at the happy noises the cat made and how he tilted back his head to let Kurt scratch at his throat.  “Where did you come from?”

 Kurt peeked around the edge of the vined wall to see if any of the shop-owners were out and looking, but no one was.  Blaine was obviously well cared for though, and his collar   suggested a wealthy family—he knew engraved name plate collars weren’t cheap—but there didn’t seem to be anyone looking for him.  He glanced back down and smoothed his hand down Blaine’s back, letting the cat’s smooth fur and rhythmic purring distract him.  “Are you lost?”

Blaine meowed but didn’t have any other answer for Kurt.  “Well, we can try and find your owner; I bet he’s worried about you.”

The cat flicked his tail and gave him the feline equivalent of rolling his eyes, which made Kurt laugh again as he stood up.  He leant down and opened his arms jokingly, but Blaine meowed loudly and trotted out of the alcove and back towards the storefronts.  Kurt grabbed his bag and hurried after him, not wanting the cat to get hit by a car in traffic.  Blaine seemed to know exactly where he was going though, and looked back once at Kurt before meowing in front of the record shop.  Kurt looked down at the cat and then back up to the store, noticing Rosie must’ve come back during his pity-session.  Blaine came back and wrapped around his feet before heading back towards the shop’s front door, meowing again before pawing at the door.  Kurt stared, a little dumbfounded at the cat’s behavior, before he hurried to comply with the cat’s demands and pushed the door open for him.

Kurt steeped into the store after him and looked up as Rosie, the sixty-five year old shop owner who raved about the days she was a hippie at Woodstock in the sixties and kept her silver hair long and braided.  Kurt adored her hair, along with the rest of her.  “Did you get a cat, Rosie?”

Rosie glanced down at Blaine before she cooed and picked up the cat, who did not seem to be as enthused about her holding him as she did.  “No, he’s Annabelle’s down the street, but isn’t he just a darling?  Apparently she got sick of keeping him cooped up at home when she went to work all day.” 

Kurt knew who Annabelle was—she was the woman who ran the metaphysical store down the street and always wore an unfortunate combination of earth tone skirts.  Kurt had tried to convince her to try some pastels to brighten her complexion, but she had just laughed him off and whipped her long braid at him.  “I haven’t seen him before though, does he usually wander around?”

“I think she just recently began bringing him to work with her, I just let him in whenever he wanders by.  What brings you here, sweetheart?  Your daddy feeling any better after that scare of his?”

“Yes he is, thank you.”  Kurt smiled at the genuine relief that passed over her face—he really needed to make a point of visiting her more often; his dad’s heart attack had been almost five months ago but the only time he’d seen Rosie in between was at his dad’s and Carole’s wedding.  With Cheerios and Glee club on top of his school work though, he just didn’t have a lot of free time to visit her as often.  “I’m actually here because of an assignment for Glee club; I was hoping to find a song to sing tomorrow, our director wants us to go outside our comfort zone.”

Rosie set down the cat and walked into the backroom, calling out to him as she went. “That fool of a man going to give you some spotlight finally?”

Kurt snorted a little darkly, but only Blaine could see so he didn’t care.  “Unlikely—maybe if I find the perfect song to sing.”

“Well, what were you thinking?  Blues?  Jazz?  Good old fashioned rock and roll?”

“I don’t know—I was thinking Beatles, but I’ve already—I don’t know.”  The last time Kurt sang Beatles had been when his father had been in a coma…and the time before that it had been when he was eleven and missed his mother terribly after an awful first day of middle school.  His face drew down and he thumbed listlessly through some of The Ramones vinyls, not really looking at them. 

“Beatles were your mama’s favorite—I remember nearly every weekend you two would come in here that’s where she’d go without fail.  Some music just speaks to you.”  Rosie’s voice drowned out near the end as she shuffled farther into the backroom.  Kurt smiled softly at the records and remembered her singing soft strains of _Hey Jude_ or _Eleanor Rigby_.  His leg was nudged again and Kurt looked down at Blaine’s big, golden eyes as the cat meowed at him.  Kurt knelt down and pet the cat again, who did enjoy it but seemed only half interested this time; up close, his eyes looked more hazel than gold, the green flecks deep within the amber.  Kurt didn’t know cats could have hazel eyes. 

 Blaine meowed at him a few more times before he pushed off Kurt’s knee and walked back after Rosie, tail flicking back and forth in what was clear frustration.  Kurt smiled after the cat and got up from his crouched position.  He turned to flick through a couple of older Broadway soundtracks, knowing he couldn’t chose one of the songs, when he heard Rosie make a victorious sound that quickly devolved into cooing noises as she headed back into the store, Blaine following close on her heels and meowing up at her, his head titled up so his bow-tie was in full view.  He was unreal—Kurt had never seen a cat that was so _chatty_ before.  Blaine looked back at him for a moment before sitting down as Rosie continued forward, a cassette tape in her hands. 

“I think this should do the trick, should work with your voice perfectly—your mama used to sing this all the time.  And I’ll have you know it was this little devil,” she motioned back towards Blaine, who was cleaning his paw almost bashfully, “who came in and started scratching at this one.  I swear, in all my days I have never met a cat quite as opinionated as this guy, but I have to agree with his excellent taste here.”

She handed the dusty tape over to him and when he looked down at the faded label, something warm and clenching gripped his heart and throat.  He didn’t bother keeping the tears from welling in his eyes in the safety of the store, and they were good tears anyway; he remembered his mother singing this song. The lyrics rose in his mind effortlessly and they fit just a little too neatly in his life at the moment, like Beatles songs always did.  Rosie squeezed his shoulder bracingly when his voice came out higher and wispier than usual. “Blackbird.”

“Now, that’s just the guitar, not Paul singing, but sometimes less is more.”

He nodded, his mind already going over how he could adapt the song to his range from McCartney’s, and he looked back up at Blaine, who had given up all pretenses of cleaning and was staring back at him cautiously.  Kurt laughed in a breathless sort of way and nodded his head down at the cat in an exaggeratingly grateful nod.  “Well, thank you Mr. Blaine.  I agree with Rosie here, you have excellent taste.”

Blaine purred and nodded, graciously, back. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_Blackbird, fly_

_Blackbird, fly_

_Into the light of the dark, black night._

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Now, I know what you all are thinking.  There is something odd about that bow-tie wearing cat.  And you would be entirely correct, as I’m sure is of little surprise to any of you. 

Blaine is not an ordinary cat, just as Kurt is not an ordinary boy.  Blaine had listened to Kurt’s voice and had watched him in that record shop when he thought no one but a cat was watching.  And while he was correct in that assumption, he was incorrect in assuming that Blaine was _only_ a cat.  Blaine had watched how Kurt’s shoulders had drooped, had seen how sad and lost he looked sitting in that alcove by himself, had felt an ache at how sure he was that he wouldn’t get a solo, which ate at him.  He hadn’t heard him yet, but even then Blaine knew that Kurt had to have had a beautiful voice—boys who talked and looked like Kurt Hummel did could only have beautiful voices, Blaine knew that without a doubt.

Looking at Kurt was almost like looking at the moon, and while Blaine had only recently come into the disposition, being a cat gave him a certain affinity for the moon.  It was as if Kurt didn’t, couldn’t, believe it of himself though—Blaine knew all too well what it felt like when you were at your lowest and just wanted one person to understand.  It also helped that Kurt and Rosie struck up a conversation about the Beatles and Blaine had happened to listen to the album recently and knew the perfect song for Kurt.  The smile and playful nod Kurt had given him in response to the tape had given him butterflies and made him feel better about himself, better than he’d felt in a long time. 

Blaine was in a predicament, as I’m sure you’ve come to realize, much like Kurt was with all the worries and dragons that followed him.  And what Blaine had realized, because he knew much more than Kurt did at this point, was that maybe they had each found what was necessary to save them.

But, alas, we’re getting ahead of ourselves.  One thing at a time, and the time we must focus on now, is Kurt’s.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kurt’s _Blackbird_ performance reduced half of the choir room to tears (including himself, but if Rachel Berry is allowed to cry when she sings, Kurt Hummel sure as hell is too) and the other half to awed silence.  It was the first time there hadn’t been a need for the traditional post-assignment vote—Kurt sat there stunned as everyone, Rachel included, agreed he should have one of the solos at Regionals.  He’d laughed, cried, and maybe squealed a little bit, in excitement and gratitude, and later, when he and Finn broke the news to his dad and Carole later, who both decided a celebration as in order and took both of them out to dinner.  It had felt wonderful, and his dad had been looking at him, so proud of him and what he’d fought for—Kurt decided then and there he owed certain someones big-time.

Which found him back at Rosie’s the following Friday with a homemade razzleberry pie for Rosie (her favorite) and a new bow-tie collar he’d made for Blaine, this one a lively poppy red with butter yellow polka-dots.  He held it out for Blaine, who sniffed it curiously before nudging Kurt’s hand and purring loudly. 

“I guess he likes it.”  Rosie chuckled and went to put the pie in the backroom, leaving Kurt out front with Blaine.  “Do you want me to swap out your old one for this?”

Blaine stopped purring and ducked his head down, his tail swishing a little quick, giving way to his nervousness; Kurt cooed and hummed a little, which Blaine listened to with rapt attention.  Then, unmistakably, he nodded and tilted his head back, sitting prim and proper for Kurt to switch out his current bow-tie collar. Kurt stared for a moment, suddenly unsure himself and feeling as if he’d just been granted a large amount of trust he’d been unprepared for, before he unclipped the collar and set about attaching the engraved name tag to the new collar.  “You know, you’re very dapper for a cat.  I think you have better manners than most people do.”

Blaine purred in response and hesitated for a second before he gave Kurt’s wrist a small kitten lick.  Kurt didn’t know why that felt so important, but it did.  He let out a soft, happy laugh and scratched behind Blaine’s ears the way he knew the cat liked.  “There, all set.  I really like the way this one brings out the color of your eyes, really makes them pop, you know?” 

Kurt giggled at his silliness and Blaine blinked up happily at him—if cats could smile, Kurt was sure that was what Blaine would be doing.  He continued to sit on the record store and pet Blaine, letting the classic sounds of Ella Fitzgerald surround him and he felt more at peace than he remembered being in a long time.  He was so content that he didn’t notice someone had walked inside until he heard a throat clear; he started and looked up, meeting amused green eyes.  “Annabelle, hi!”

“Hi…Kurt, right?”  Kurt nodded and hurriedly got to his feet; he didn’t miss the way Blaine growled unhappily up at Annabelle, who he apparently blamed for the end to the petting.  “Nice to see you’re keeping this guy company.  Hasn’t been bothering you too much, has he?”

“Blaine?  Oh no, he’s perfect.  Isn’t that right?  I was just telling him how dapper he is for a cat, he didn’t squirm or anything when I replaced his collar.”  Annabelle looked down and quirked a smile at the new bow-tie around Blaine’s neck; Blaine met her gaze and nodded up at her. 

“Did you make that for him?”

“Oh, yes, I did.  He ah, well, he and Rosie helped me last week when I was having a bit of a rough day.  Just wanted to say thank you—he seemed to like it.”  Kurt smiled before looking back down at Blaine, who had curled around his feet and currently had a tail wrapped around his calf almost possessively.  Cats were odd animals, but Kurt could definitely see the similarities between himself and them.  “I think it’s more he keeps me company.”

“Mmhmm.  Well, he’s certainly taken a shine to you.  Is Rosie around?”

“Oh, she’s in the back.”

“Thanks…keep an eye on this guy for me, Kurt, will you?  He seems to like it much more over here than in my store anyway.”  Kurt nodded and Annabelle gave them smiles, and reached down to, well, not quite pet, but more than a touch to Blaine’s cheek, around the whiskers.  Then, she was gone; both Kurt and Blaine stared after her and met each other’s eyes.  “Well, she’s a little odd herself, isn’t she?  I see where you get it from.”

Kurt stuck his tongue out playfully between his teeth as Blaine meowed up at him, clearly not as amused.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

If you think we are only at the beginning, you are correct, once again.  But all things, good or bad, tend to come in threes you know.

 


	2. Part Deux: Of Unfortunate Happenings and Courage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't your traditional fairy tale where knights ride stallions, huge lizards breathe fire, and damsels are stuck in towers. This is the 21st century, things have changed. What this is a story about is a boy and a cat. From there, it gets interesting. Klaine; written for the Fairytale AU at the Tumblr AU Friday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very loosely based off of the Madame d'Aulnoy version of one of my favorite fairytales, The White Cat. This got away from me a bit and is broken into three parts, and will updated once a week until complete. This happened basically because the idea of kitty!Blaine appealed to me and I wanted to bring the story to modern day. 
> 
> Note: This is mostly canon compliant in season 2 with these exceptions: Kurt is still a Cheerio, NBK did not happen, Kurt never went to Dalton and ND defeated them at Sectionals

There once was a boy named Blaine Anderson. 

He was a kind, charming, dapper type of boy and always had a kind word for someone, even if he was given an unkind word first. 

When Blaine was little, he never understood why his mother only talked with one of her two sisters, his Aunt Annie.  Everyone always looked uncomfortable at any mention of his Aunt Morgan, so Blaine thought that she must not be a very nice woman.  His mother never disagreed so Blaine never questioned his forgotten second aunt beyond that.  Blaine was a very trusting boy, you see, and he believed every word his parents told him, even as he got older and the world began to twist into something different altogether from his childhood. 

At twelve, Blaine discovered he was different from other little boys—he didn’t think girls had cooties and whenever that one boy from his soccer club smiled at him, he blushed to the tip of his nose.  It was terrifying, to be sure, but it was also something he couldn’t deny.  So Blaine mustered up every bit of courage he had, because even at that age he knew how important it was to have courage, sat both of his parents down one evening after dinner and told them that he didn’t like girls the way he had always supposed he should, not the way he liked boys.  The news was received with mixed reviews: his mother had scooped him up and pressed a kiss to his hair, murmuring how sorry she was that the world would be cruel and she would try her best to shield him from it, but his father had stared at his hands before rubbing them over his face.  The disappointment stung and was all too clear.

Even though Blaine’s relationship with his father had taken a turn for the worst, Blaine still maintained his kindness and optimism, bolstered by the acceptance he received from his mother and aunt.  He embraced all of what made him different and unique and sang it out whenever he could, even jumping up onto whatever furniture was available, like couches and kitchen tables, when he just couldn’t contain himself any longer.  But, I am sorry to tell you this, the happiness and acceptance Blaine received from his loved ones wasn’t enough to shield him forever, and he had dragons of his own that followed him around linoleum hallways with guardians too distracted to really protect anyone.

There once was a boy named Blaine Anderson—and if you think he has any relevancy to the white, bow-tied cat of the same name, I’d say you’re following along nicely.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kurt made it a point to visit Rosie’s shop more often after Regionals (which they had won handedly), not just to visit with Blaine he told himself, but that did have a large part to do with it.  He forgot how much he loved to listen and sing along to the old records Rosie had in her shop, and having Blaine there beside him, listening to his troubles and dreams quietly, patiently, did more for him than Kurt could describe.  It was different confiding to Blaine than it was to his dad, to Carole, or to his friends.  Anything he confided to his dad would inevitably end up being something Burt Hummel had to fix; Kurt couldn’t tell him about Karofsky or the bullying because his dad did so much for him already, he couldn’t worry him like that, not after his heart attack.  Carole was about the same and Kurt didn’t want to trouble her with anymore of his problems when she had already done so much by just accepting him.  His friends couldn’t see what was happening regardless—and in some ways, it was better that way.  He knew he’d hate the pity that would come from them.

Blaine though, was a cat and therefore talking to him was not nearly as complicated as talking to anyone else.  He listened and curled up beside him, purring and nudging affectionately whenever Kurt told him about his day, the good and especially the bad, and only offered solidarity and comfort.  Kurt knew that Blaine was smarter than your average house-cat, but at the end of the day, he was still a cat and as such was easier to talk to because there was only so much he could understand.  And Blaine, true to form, proved the perfect listener, and every visit with Blaine (and Rosie, because otherwise he was drifting into crazy-cat-person territory at too young an age) left Kurt feeling lighter, braver, and ready to face the next day.  Annabelle came in a few times to check up on Blaine, but for the most part, Kurt found himself the adopted owner for the cat—a role he didn’t mind at all.

Kurt was busy doing some calculus homework (a subject he loathed with the passion of a thousand ill-tempered divas) when things changed again, Blaine napping contently against his leg on their bench in the little alcove outside the record store. It was starting to get a little too warm to keep doing this, what with all his layers which he admitted were multiple, but Kurt decided he could brave the humidity a little longer.  Blaine had no problem with this decision and was purring softly in his sleep, his little paws twitching ever so often that told Kurt he was deep in a dream.  Kurt reached over the stroke his belly automatically and tried to fathom what the hell he was looking at and supped to make sense of (seriously, why did calculus decide that letters made better numbers than actual numbers?).  He was deep in thought and at first, didn’t register the voice that taunted him mercilessly at school each day; it wasn’t until David Karofsky let out a loud, raucous sounding laugh that was familiar enough for Kurt’s brain to catch up with his hearing. 

His eyes darted up quicker than a mongoose and he felt a sharp twinge at the back of his neck at the motion.  He could see Karofsky on the opposite side of the park from his angle, but he was fairly certain that he was decently shielded from view with the bench angled behind the wall.  It shamed him a little at how relieved that fact made him feel and he felt the all too familiar spike of self-loathing shoot through him that he let Karofsky get under his skin.  Karofsky was walking with one of the guys from the hockey team, the one who thought mullets were making a comeback in a bad way, and whatever they were talking about was more engrossing than looking around for fellow McKinley students.  He watched them intently until the wandered past the park, no doubt heading towards the sports memorabilia shop Kurt knew was on the other side of the road, and only relaxed once he heard their voices fade away.  He didn’t want to leave, but he knew they could recognize his car if they turned down this street and he had enough nightmares about what Karofsky could potentially do with all his hatred if they met, alone, outside of school. 

Blaine meowed up at him and Kurt jolted a little, forgetting that he’d had a companion by him the whole time; he let out a shaky, deprecating laugh and frowned when he saw that his fingers were fisted tightly in Blaine’s fur.  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Blaine, I didn’t mean—” Kurt detangled his fingers and smoothed them across the rumpled fur. 

Blaine blinked up at him, hazel eyes full of too much worry for a cat, and didn’t protest or hiss that Kurt had unwittingly hurt him.  Kurt slumped down against the back of the bench, his head thunking painfully against the vine-covered wall; he felt tears of stress and frustrations (and disgust) start to build and he closed his eyes in an attempt to block it all out.  He _hated_ feeling like this, like he was helpless to the big, lumbering jackass who was bigger than him and still made him feel even smaller because he could.  He felt less himself whenever Karofsky was around and with his dad’s voice echoing in his head that _nobody pushed the Hummels around_ , he felt he was failing his dad too.  Because Karofsky was pushing him around—and Kurt couldn’t help feeling that he was letting him and he’d lost sight of how to stop it.

Blaine nudged at his hand and lifted himself up by two paws on top of Kurt’s thigh, his meow soft and almost mournful; Kurt blinked back tears and lifted his hand to pet him slowly.  “I hate that I let him get to me like this, reduce me to a sniveling mess—I bet my skin’s all splotchy now.”

Blaine meowed as if to say that it didn’t matter; Kurt huffed a breath at how desperate he was getting if he was making up emotions and phrases in a cat’s meow.  “I think I need to go home—thanks for sitting with me, Mr. Blaine.  It was a pleasure as always.” 

He smiled and scratched Blaine’s ears; he didn’t know why the urge came over him, but the next thing he knew, he was leaning down to give the cat a soft kiss on top of his head.  He smiled again and gathered up his homework, heading back to his car with a small wave back to Blaine, then another wave to Rosie through her window.

Blaine’s tail twitched and he stared after Kurt’s car until it was gone from sight.  And then for a long time after.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Have you ever let a situation get so out of your control that you have no idea how to grab hold of it again?  Let your fear of something (or someone) grow so large that you forget who you are whenever that fear confronts you?  Bottle everything up inside because you think that somehow facing ‘It’ on your own somehow makes up for the fact you are afraid or out of control in the first place?  If you have ever felt any of these things, then you can understand how Kurt felt leading up to the moment we just witnessed.  Kurt Hummel was a young man very used to control in his life—control had been taken from him once, along with his mother, and he vowed ever since then to not lose it again.  It ate at him every day that he had no control over the Karofsky situation, because as much as he told his friends, his teachers, his family and himself that he could handle everything, he knew in the corners of his heart he most certainly could not.

I wish I could tell you that Kurt was able to regain his control without pain, without strife, and certainly without scared, lashing dragons backed into corners where they can do the most damage. 

I cannot though.  But, what I can tell you is that sometimes, things, even the horrible kind, happen for a reason.  And when Kurt finally had enough of Karofsky, finally reached a breaking point and lashed back with anger and hurtful words, what happened next was horrible, but most definitely for a reason.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_You’re nothing but a scared little boy who can’t handle how extraordinarily ordinary you are!_

_And then…the world narrows down to a pair of lips ungainly and unwanted on his—and he can’t breathe.  It lasts for too long and there are hands, big and biting, hold his face.  When it finally ends, he can’t take in the fear in the pair of eyes looking down at him, how pale he looks, or anything else because he just_ took _something of Kurt’s and it burns a little in his throat.  He leans back in—oh God—and then his body is reacting and he’s away from him and slamming his hands, hard, into the lockers.  He can’t move and he can’t…_

_Kurt hates being out of control._

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Blaine sat in the window of Rosie’s store and waited for Kurt.  He waited, and waited, and then he waited some more because, frankly, as a cat he found he had surprisingly little else to do.  Rosie tried to get him to play with the stupid mouse she’d bought the other day, (and yes it was stupid and not at all tempting) but he ignored her attempts and kept waiting for Kurt to walk by, to wave at him with the smile he reserved for Blaine then come inside.  He never did though, and then there was Annabelle to take him back home for the night; he growled at her when she tried to pick him up, which earned him a swat on the head.

“The poor thing—he just waited for Kurt to come all day.  He’s really attached to that boy.”

Annabelle smiled down at Blaine as they left the store.  “So I’ve heard—he’s a good kid and cats are good judges of character.  See you tomorrow, Rosie!”

Annabelle left the door open for Blaine to exit and then they started the trek back up to her car; her arms crossed over her stomach and she kept looking down at him, he could tell out of the corner of his eye.  He knew what was coming and he really didn’t want to hear it, not again. 

“Blaine, I know you really like this boy—”

Like did not begin to cover it.  What Blaine felt when he was with Kurt was—there weren’t words.  All he could think whenever Kurt was near was how much he wanted to help him, how wonderful his voice was and his sense of humor was, how edgy his style was, and wonder what the hell color his eyes must be; he couldn’t tell, but he knew they had to be gorgeous.  Kurt was everything Blaine always hoped for but had given up on and here he was, here he was and he needed Blaine, needed his help.  He wanted to tell him how he knew exactly what Kurt was going through, knew exactly what it felt like to be followed around by taunting words and hard shoves.  He wanted to tell him how wonderful he was because Blaine had a feeling Kurt didn’t hear it enough from people aside from his family (and Blaine knew firsthand how those words, no matter how true, were always counted last).

No—‘like’ didn’t even come close to what he felt for Kurt.  And he knew how terrifying that was, how dangerous it was for him to let Kurt get to close.  Kurt had too many troubles of his own to contend with, he didn’t need troubles as dangerous as Blaine’s to add to the list.

“—but you need to be careful, Blaine.  You’ve done one good deed for him but we don’t know how much power that may have even had.”  Blaine glared as much as he could and she held up her hands apologetically.  “I just—I don’t want you to get your hopes up too soon. Remember love, you’re still a cat.”

Blaine hissed and flattened his ears to his skull; as if he could ever forget that teensy little detail.  They reached Annabelle’s car and she opened the passenger door for Blaine, and he hopped up into the seat without preamble.  He plopped down moodily into a tight loaf position, as Annabelle was inclined to call it (because you look like a kitty-loaf of bread, Blaine!), and tucked his head down towards his paws.  Annabelle climbed in and drove them home.  He hated that she always had to remind him to not get too worked up and to not get to ahead of themselves—he hated is because she was right.  He knew it, deep down, but whenever he was near Kurt all he could think about was how maybe everything that had happened, the dance, his _other_ aunt, the curse had been so he could find Kurt. 

He didn’t know what kept him from the shop today and he hoped it wasn’t anything too bad, but he just had a feeling.  And that feeling worried him.

He hoped Kurt visited the store tomorrow.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

There once was a boy named Blaine Anderson who learned early on that he was different for reasons apart from being gay.

No one talked about his Aunt Morgan and his mother and Aunt Annie would make weird sounds and smells in their kitchen whenever Aunt Annie visited.  His father looked like he was constantly trying to ignore what was happening and shield Blaine as well, but his gaze would still drift to that kitchen door.  Blaine always thought it was funny, that his father would say that they had nothing to do with his mother’s ‘business’ but couldn’t help trying to sneak a peek himself.  When he asked his mother about it late at night when she tucked him in, away from his father’s disapproving eyes, she would smile and whisper that she was doing magic; Blaine always whined and told her to tell him the truth.  

Little did he know, that his mother had been telling him the truth.

Everything sort of came out, so to speak, when he was fourteen and woke up in a hospital all black and blue from a high school Sadie Hawkins dance.  He’d been brave and hadn’t let all the jerks and ignorant jackasses at school dictate him or his actions; he’d asked out a friend, the only other out boy at school, to the dance and had felt untouchable.  He knew he was doing the right thing and would show everyone there that there wasn’t anything wrong with him or with Danny.  And, for most of night, he’d been right—up until three large boys with something to prove showed up with baseball bats and fists.  He woke up hurt and bandaged and more than a little bit broken.  He woke up listening to his parents yelling at each other.

There is nothing a broken young man needs less than the two people who need to support him yelling at one another.

The reason why I must tell you this sad snippet of Blaine Anderson’s life is to explain what happened next.  Amidst all the arguing and crying, a woman walked into the room, a woman who had looked familiar and unknown at the same time.  She looked at him and then everything around him seemed to stop, except her.  She continued to come forward until she was sitting on his bed, one hand, with nails black and lacquered, reaching across to touch his own.  She introduced herself as his Aunt Morgan (though she called herself Morgana, quick to reassure Blaine that she wasn’t _that_ Morgana mind you) and told him that he need only ask and she would make those who had hurt him pay.  He was blood and that was important, she told him; hurt and broken, Blaine listened to her because she listened to him.

Without thinking of the consequences and full of hot, white anger, he agreed to his aunt’s offer, and tried to tell himself her conniving smile was for the justice she would bring him.

The three boys who had hurt Blaine did pay as his aunt had promised, but all magic came at a price and that was what Blaine had agreed to.  Back at home and talking about Dalton Academy with his parents, his Aunt Annie had burst through the door with a local paper in hand, eyes wide and hair wild.  She showed Blaine and his family the story of the three boys who had attacked, a story that detailed how each of the boys had disappeared from their very beds, if their parents could be believed.  She rounded on Blaine and demanded if anyone other than herself and his parents had visited—he answered honestly and after the shocked gasps subsided, black smoke trickled into the house until everything was covered.

When Blaine came to, the world was much bigger than he remembered and his parents nowhere to be found.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kurt didn’t remember driving home after the confrontation with Karofsky, but he did remember sitting on his bed and trying to piece himself back together.  He knew that things could have gone much worse—but that didn’t mean what had happened was any less horrible.  Everything started to make sense as he sat in his room, curled up on his bed with Beatles playing in the background—Karofsky’s focus, the way his eyes would linger on him after all the other jocks had left, and why he went out of his way to bully Kurt.  It was horrifying to think about and he wished he was still ignorant about David Karofsky—he barely touched his dinner that night.

The next day, Karofsky had cornered him by his locker and threatened to kill him if he told anyone what happened—and Kurt believed him.  He knew the fear driving Karofsky all too well and even though Mr. Schue had taken him to Figgins after finding him slumped in the wake of Karofsky’s threat, he had no idea what to do.  He didn’t believe in outing but—but Karofsky meant it, he did, and Kurt didn’t—he left the office with slumped shoulders and a secret he didn’t want locked up inside his head.  His dad knew something was wrong and was especially persistent at dinner, but Kurt couldn’t work up the will to tell him; Karofsky’s threat hung heavy around his ears and in the end his dad was forced to accept a mumbled ‘it’s nothing, just stress’ with only a heavy sigh before going back to his carrots. 

The next Friday, he’d driven on auto-pilot to Rosie’s again—he needed a distraction from everything.  His dad kept asking after him and his friends had finally started to notice something was wrong between him and Karofsky (a little too late, he thought bitterly).  The effort it took to keep everything to himself was getting ridiculous, so after school on Friday, he skipped Glee practice and drove to Rosie’s.  The store was a little busier than usual, but it was still relaxing to step through the door and lose himself in music.  It also helped that only moments after arriving at the store, he heard a pawing at the door and turned to spot Blaine meowing for him, still wearing the red and yellow polka-dotted bow-tie.  He let Blaine in and scooped him up, pressing his face into the cat’s downy-soft neck; Blaine didn’t fight his hold one bit.

“It is really good to see you, Mr. Blaine.  I’m sorry I haven’t been around it’s just—things are complicated.”  Blaine meowed softly and nudged at his chin.  Kurt giggled a little and set Blaine back down, motioning silently towards their little alcove outside.  Blaine’s tailed twitched and he headed towards the door, looking back at Kurt, clearly beckoning him to follow.  Kurt shook his head and followed after, collapsing down on the white bench moments later.   Blaine hopped up beside him and crawled until he was perched on Kurt’s lap, blinking up at him as if to say, ‘go ahead.’  And, because Kurt didn’t know who else to talk to but knowing he needed to get it out before the secret turned to poison and choked him, he finally broke down.

He would’ve felt embarrassed if anyone but a cat was watching him choke out words around his sobs, but it was the only way he could get out everything that had happened.  He told Blaine about Karofsky that day and how breaking his phone while he’d been texting Mercedes had been the last straw.  How he’d followed him into the lockers and yelled and yelled and yelled at him until Karofsky was yelling back, up close and fists shaking.  How quicker than Kurt could register, Karofsky had leaned in and kissed him, how he’d tried to lean in again, as if Kurt had somehow welcomed the first one.  The threat and how Kurt couldn’t say anything until he was just choking out sounds until his sobs dried out.  Through it all Blaine watched him; Kurt could feel his claws digging into his leg in what could’ve been anger and he smoothed a hand down Blaine’s back to try and calm him.  He was probably just reacting to Kurt’s stress—animals did that, he remembered reading somewhere.

His situation didn’t magically fix itself just because Kurt confessed things to a cat; Karofsky had still threatened him and Kurt was saddled with his secret sexuality, his teachers were still useless, and his dad was still worried about him.  But, he did feel slightly better from airing everything out, letting someone else hear him, even if that someone was a cat.  He wiped at his eyes and dug around in his bag for a handkerchief to dab at his face and nose; he took a couple deep breaths and glanced back down at Blaine, who was still staring at him with his strange intensity.  Kurt huffed a little grin and tickled the underside of Blaine’s chin.

“Thanks for, I don’t know, not running away when I started blubbering?”  Blaine looked to shake his head and Kurt tickled a little harder under the bow-tie collar.  “I wish I knew what to do—I suppose the obvious thing is to tell someone but, but no one knows what’s going on in his head, and I can’t tell them why he threatened to—I just can’t do that to him.”

Blaine swatted at his arm, claws out a little and Kurt frowned down at the cat before shoving him back onto the bench.  “Quit that, I can’t!  What they would do to him…well, it’ll make what they did to me—it’ll be so much worse.  I just don’t know what to do.”

Blaine stared at him for a few moments more before growling a little and hopping off the bench, darting around the wall at a sprint.  Kurt watched him go long after he was gone and sighed a little, sad that he’d left, but honestly, Blaine was a cat, he probably just got bored with Kurt’s woes and wanted to be around people who weren’t so depressing and pathetic.  He dithered on the bench for a little bit, trying to decide whether he wanted to go back into the shop or just head home.  He really didn’t need anything from Rosie’s, and his dad was probably worried enough about him anyway, so he gathered up his things and headed back towards his car, face drawn and exhausted.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Blaine?”

I need you to write something.

“I don’t think that’s—”

Just do it!  Please!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kurt was shutting the passenger side door and heading over to the driver’s side when he spotted Blaine sprinting out of Annabelle’s shop, something white clutched in his mouth.  Kurt watched him as he sprinted past the record store, into the alcove, looked around with an increasingly puffed up tail, before he spotted Kurt at his car.  Kurt stared, completely confused as to what he was witnessing, as Blaine bounded across the street towards him, almost skidding to a stop at his feet, his little chest heaving with effort.  Blaine meowed, muffled by the white thing in his mouth, and spat it out onto the ground; he pushed it towards Kurt with one paw, hazel eyes blinking up at him imploringly.  Kurt knelt down and took what he could see was a piece of paper into his shaky hands and uncurled it to see what was on it.  It was a single word.

_Courage._

Kurt stared and stared at the word and then lifted his eyes to stare at Blaine, who was watching him with more intelligence, more compassion and more, Kurt could barely understand it, more affection than a cat could possibly possess.  He swallowed and tried to find words of his own, but all he could was stare back down at the word Blaine had given him—this wasn’t real, things like this didn’t happen outside of Japanese cartoons and movies.  And yet—Blaine’s eyes said that they could.  “Can—can you understand me?”

Blaine blinked and then dipped his head forward in an unmistakable nod.  Kurt let out a shaky breath and covered his mouth with his hand, the paper pressing up against his jaw a little.  Blaine looked down and his tail was swishing back and forth quickly; Kurt knew that meant he was worried, agitated.  Scared.  Kurt closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice from getting too high or too hysterical.  “Have you—did you always—are you really a cat?”

Blaine meowed softly and shook his head, looking back up at Kurt with sad, guilt-ridden eyes.  Kurt laughed, high and brittle and rubbed at his eyes.  “I’m going insane, that’s it, the stress has finally gotten to me and I’m imagining a cat talking to me.”

Blaine meowed again, more insistent and Kurt flashed him a helpless smile; Blaine came forward after a little hesitation and then nudged Kurt’s hand on the ground, his eyes casting upwards every now and then in apology and begging Kurt to believe him.  Kurt shook his head, not knowing what to say, when he heard a woman call his name from the other side of the street.  He looked up with wet, wide eyes and spotted Annabelle’s quick, purposeful strides; he quickly got to his feet and blinked at her as she came to a stop in front of him.  She looked down at Blaine, then to Kurt, and finally at the paper crumpled up in his hand; she sighed and gave them both a lopsided smile.

“Well, it’s a good sign you didn’t run away screaming, Kurt Hummel.  Why don’t we go inside my shop and have a little chat, mm?  Catch you up to speed.”

“Chat?  About what?”  Kurt asked a little breathlessly; he felt Blaine rubbing against his calf and he wondered why that still felt comforting, even though he apparently wasn’t really a cat and should be weird if a _person_ trapped as a cat was rubbing against his leg. 

Annabelle arched her brow and pointedly motioned her chin down at Blaine.  “Well, to talk about my nephew of course.  I figured a discussion of Blaine Anderson and how he came to be a cat, and what you’re potential part in helping him change back to normal, is best left for indoors, don’t you think?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

There once was a boy named Blaine Anderson who was gay, had two aunts, and was now a cat—and he needed Kurt Hummel to become human again.

Why did he need Kurt Hummel, you may ask?  Well, that is the question, isn’t it?  He needed Kurt Hummel for a multitude of reasons, many of which I’m sure his Aunt Annabelle, called Annie when she was wont to feel a little younger, will explain in due time.  Really though, there’s only one reason you need to satisfy your curiosity.  And that reason, most simply, is love, a most powerful thing in any story and especially so here.

But, it may take them awhile yet to come to that reason; just a little more patience, we’re more than half way through the woods and have just one more path before we see the dawn.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


	3. Part Trois: Of Losing Heads and Losing Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't your traditional fairy tale where knights ride stallions, huge lizards breathe fire, and damsels are stuck in towers. This is the 21st century, things have changed. What this is a story about is a boy and a cat. From there, it gets interesting. Klaine; written for the Fairytale AU at the Tumblr AU Friday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very loosely based off of the Madame d'Aulnoy version of one of my favorite fairytales, The White Cat. This story is now complete :) This happened basically because the idea of kitty!Blaine appealed to me and I wanted to bring the story to modern day. 
> 
> Note: This is mostly canon compliant in season 2 with these exceptions: Kurt is still a Cheerio, NBK did not happen, Kurt never went to Dalton and ND defeated them at Sectionals

Magic, as I’m sure many of you have either surmised from this story or others, is a tricky thing.  It’s not what Disney would have you believe, with bubbly fairy godmothers that wave a wand and turn pumpkins into carriages and spells get broken by true love’s kiss.  Not to say true love isn’t powerful, but magic takes more than that.  Magic, for all intents and purposes, is very similar the balance book of an accountant.  Takes a bit of the mystery out of the whole idea, I know, but it’s a system of give and take.  That for which magic can give you, it will also take unless you pay back what you’ve been loaned.  Let me give you an example.

Say you find yourself walking in the woods and happened across a river with no bridge to cross.  The river’s too dangerous to forge on your own and going around the river to a shallower part will take hours—but you can use magic so you decide to fasten yourself a bridge.  To do so, however, you must have wood taken from a tree, mortar taken from the clay in the river bed, and stone to support the bridge from being swept away by the rapids and you use magic to gather these items.  You fashion a bridge together so you may cross safely, and once your feet touch down on the other side, you are given instructions on what you must do to make up for the magic you have been loaned.  Since it was only a bridge you fashioned, your tasks may be simple (such as healing a wounded deer up ahead, or watching over a lost child in the next city you visited, you get the idea), but the important thing to note is this is _your_ price.  If you don’t pay up, you may not notice anything wrong at first, but the magic will always catch up with you.

There are those who never pay for the magic they use, and they become twisted and dark inside as a result; I think you can guess one person in this story that fits this criteria.  Dear Aunt Morgan (Morgana because once upon a time she read a book and decided that name suited her better), who had long since found ways to never have to pay for her magic use, directing it to others, to their misfortune.  And, as a result, had a bit of falling out with her two sisters that left her bitter inside—bitter enough to seek revenge on her oldest sister’s family, which leads us back to Blaine.  He was cursed for not only agreeing to dark magic (even though the poor thing certainly didn’t know he was agreeing to that…he had thought his Aunt Morgan was going to sue their families like normal folks), but also for what the magic had done to the three boys.  And, to undo his curse and break even with the magic’s invisible bookie, it would take three things done by Blaine in turn, three things that counted for one person who needed it.

Three good deeds, to be exact.  I think you all can see where I’m going with this.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“So let me see if I’ve heard you correctly.”  Kurt’s voice was high and breathless, born from hearing quite a lot of fantastic information and watching a cat, who was really a boy, meowing along with Annabelle, who was apparently the boy-turned-cat’s aunt.  “Blaine the cat here is really Blaine Anderson, a boy cursed to be a cat by his crazy aunt, not you Annabelle, because the aforementioned crazy aunt did some bad magic—”

“Dark magic, dear.” 

“…dark magic then.  Did dark magic to three boys who-who bashed Blaine for being gay and didn’t pay the price, so now it’s up to Blaine to make up for what his aunt did.  Is that right?”

Annabelle nodded and Blaine meowed in agreement.  “Blaine was cursed to be a cat because he asked for dark magic in the first place, not that he knew what he was asking for but that’s semantics to magic.  And because Blaine asked for the magic, he had to pick up the tab.  His parents were taken as well; three curses for three acts of dark magic.  And, in order to break the curses, Blaine must complete three good deeds for one person the magic determined needed them most.”

Kurt blinked and stared at both of them, his hand clenching his book bag strap tight.  “And—and you think that’s me?”

Annabelle shrugged, but Blaine bounded for, staring up at him with wide, remorseful, and too gold eyes and gave one very short, very confident meow in response.  Yes—Kurt didn’t need Annabelle to translate that for him to understand.  Kurt let out a shaky breath and sat down heavily in one of Annabelle’s squishy chairs, shoulder drooping down along with the rest of his body.  “I don’t—how can you be sure?”

“I wasn’t.  In fact, I spent the better part of the last two months trying to convince Blaine that he rushed into this headfirst.  But here’s the thing—I’m not the one holding the magic debt, that’s Blaine, and if he truly thinks you’re who he’s supposed to help, I’d go with his instincts rather than mine.”

Kurt nodded and felt Blaine nudge one of his dangling hands, purring loud enough for Kurt to feel the vibrations in his fingers with every nudge.  He looked down at Blaine and wondered, not for the first time that afternoon, how any of this was even possible—how could Blaine the cat really be a person, and how could _he_ be cursed for doing nothing?  Or, at least agreeing to something through a trick.  None of it sounded fair and it felt like too much for him to step into, as if accepting Blaine’s and Annabelle’s story would plunge him headfirst into a world completely different than what he’d known and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that.  But—how could he turn away from Blaine?  Blaine, who even as a cat, had given him so much comfort, had listened to him and his concerns, and who understood, in all ways, exactly what he’d been going through?  Blaine, who had given him a simple word scratched into a scrap of paper, a word that Kurt knew Blaine had imprinted into his own head, especially given what had happened to him.  Kurt had needed him without even knowing and now Blaine needed him—how could Kurt turn away from that and live with himself?

Blaine nudged him again and sat back down at Kurt’s feet, meowing up at him fast and low; he glanced back at Annabelle when he was done and twitched his tail at her. 

“He said that he knows this is a lot to take in, Kurt, and if it’s too much, don’t feel bad if you need to walk out that door.  He just wants you to be happy—Kurt, I know how all of this sounds, I really do.  It was how it sounded to me when my mother pulled my sisters and I aside and told us that we’d been born with the gift, just like she and her two sisters before her had.  But please, believe me when I say that it’s real and that I’m starting to understand why Blaine knew it was you the magic picked so early on.”

Kurt took a few deep, calming breaths and tried to ground himself before he looked down and met Blaine’s earnest gaze—Blaine meant what Annabelle had translated for Kurt.  He would let Kurt walk away in a second, didn’t matter if it meant he had to stay as a cat until he found someone else the magic determined Blaine could help.  He rubbed at his eyes and looked at Annabelle, his eyes fixed and determined.  “Can you show me something, something to try and help me believe you’re not some crazy cat lady and I’m still fully sane?”

Annabelle and Blaine shared a look.  “I can, but Kurt, if I perform magic for you, which means whatever the price is it will be for you to pay.  Magic is funny that way, it knows who is requesting the magic and charges them appropriately—it’s why Blaine was cursed in the first place.  Morgan was trying to hurt my sister Helena’s family and used Blaine, who she had never told about his heritage due to his father’s wishes, to do it.”

Kurt nodded.  “I figured based on what you told me.  I’ll pay whatever it is but I think I need to see something, anything, to help wrap my mind around this.”

Annabelle met his stare silently before she canted her head forward and turned to start rummaging around her back counter.  Kurt looked down at Blaine, who meowed and gave the feline equivalent of a shrug, before Annabelle brought out a large, dusty book and slammed it onto the counter with a satisfied grin.  She flipped through the book, muttering to herself, before her eyes lit up and she gave a smug smirk to the book’s pages.  She beckoned Kurt forward and he complied, Blaine closely following his heels.  She put a finger to her lips and Kurt nodded, a weird mixture of excitement, dread, and wonder starting to coalesce in his stomach at what was about to happen.

Annabelle’s voice wasn’t any different than it was when she talked, but the very sound of her words sounded different as she started to chant from the book.  Her hands made sigils in the air that Kurt could only half-see and Kurt felt something heavy settle in the room, first over Annabelle and then shifting over to him; he could hear a voice, little more than the wind, whispering in his ear about the price for the magic.  He felt tears gather in his eyes and he nodded his agreement just as Annabelle’s chanting grew to its loudest and then, abruptly stopped.  Kurt blinked furiously and took a deep breath; every inch of his body seemed to tingle with electric energy and when he was able to focus his eyes again, there, perfectly out of place on Annabelle’s counter, was a single, floating white snowdrop flower. 

Kurt hesitated and then his fingers were stretching forward of their own volition to feel the flower, to make sure it was real; when he felt his fingertips brush over the flower, he was surprised to find it was made out of glass.  Annabelle took a deep breath and grabbed it out of the air, looking it over a few times before she extended it out to Kurt for him to take. 

“Snowdrop—it’ll bring you luck in addition to shielding you from most other enchantments and magic that could be thrown your way.  I figured it could be useful with my sister still lurking about out there.”  Kurt nodded and took the delicate glass flower from Annabelle’s hand, looking down at Blaine before tucking it into his coat’s lapel.  “So, I’m guessing you’re a bit more of a believer than you were a few minutes ago; was your price worth it?”

Kurt let out a choked sort of laugh and crouched down to Blaine’s level, smoothing a hand softly across his head, mindful of his ears.  Everything had changed, but while it was a little scary, Kurt couldn’t help but feel amazed by what he had witnessed.  Amazed and changed, like now that he knew what existed out in the world, now that he was a part of it, he could do anything; he could be brave enough to try.  It was a wonderful and heady feeling, hope.  He’d forgotten how strong it could be if given just a little room to grow.  He smiled at Blaine and gathered him close, not caring that this should be awkward or that he was technically holding a boy around his same age in his arms, which would’ve been completely uncomfortable to the Kurt of five minutes ago.  He met Blaine’s human eyes (he now couldn’t understand how he could’ve mistaken his eyes for anything else) and half laughed, half hiccupped out his words. 

“It told me my price was to give you a chance.”

Blaine meowed up at him and purred deeply against Kurt’s hand, eyes closing softly in relief and hope.    

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Now, please allow me to take a moment and further expand upon my previous topic mentioned above, meaning magic, because there is definite cause for outrage I am sure at this point.  Outrage because we have witnessed poor Blaine, who did nothing but be brave, nearly get killed for that bravery, and then get manipulated by a jealous and vindictive aunt at his most vulnerable, be treated most horribly by magic.  I’m sure that angers many of you because I know it sure angered me when I first came to learn this story.

Magic is supposed to be good.  Yes, there is always the quintessential ‘dark side of the force’ that the good side always must contend with, but we have all grown up with the idea that for every dark side there is a greater good.  Unfortunately, the truth is that magic is neither good nor evil; that is a title strictly reserved for the people wielding it.  Magic simply is. 

However, the reason why I wish to expound a bit more on the subject is to let you know that while magic is neither good nor evil, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t try to even out the metaphorical balance if it can.  As a system of checks and balances, it doesn’t like either side to get too much ahead of the other, meaning that if there are too many tick-marks on the negative side, it will strive to right itself so that the tick-marks on the positive side even everything out again.  So, if a bucket-load of bad things happen to a person who the magic can sense is inherently good (if a bit too trusting), the logic is that by that person doing good things, good things will happen to him as well (and we use him because I am obviously talking about one Blaine Anderson, but please note this could also just as easily apply towards a ‘her’).

Kurt Hummel was someone that needed help, the kind of help Blaine Anderson could provide, even whilst being a cat, but more importantly the magic recognized that Kurt Hummel was someone that Blaine Anderson the human would need as well. 

Soul mates aren’t as hard to believe in when magic’s involved in the story, is it?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was an understatement to say that things had changed after that afternoon in Annabelle’s shop, listening to Blaine’s story, seeing the magic actually work, and hearing the whisper of it in his ear to give Blaine the chance he needed as his price.  And learning how much Blaine was trying to help him, even if in helping Kurt he also helped himself, it made him want to give Blaine a chance.  It made him want a lot of things and helped him realize that sometimes, you need help from others to help solve your problems.  It made him go to his father and tell him what had been happening with Karofsky, and it straightened his spine out after weeks and weeks of slumping down to stay out of sight.  It hadn’t been fun, having to tell his father, the principal, Coach Sylvester, and Karofsky’s father what had happened in that locker room, especially with Karofsky there, glaring at him as if Kurt had stolen all of his power—which in a way, he had.  It had been terrifying and he nearly didn’t tell anyone, but every time he came close to talking himself out of it, he’d feel the crinkled up scrap of paper in his pocket.

 _Courage_.  If Blaine believed he had it and helped remind him of it with his own story and trials, then surely he could do the same. 

Everything about Karofsky’s sexuality and the locker room had, miraculously, stayed safely guarded away from the prying student body following Karofsky’s expulsion.  Kurt suspected that Coach Sylvester had something to do with it, but he wasn’t complaining—he truly did not wish Karofsky to be outted to his peers before he could even fully accept himself and was happy that hadn’t been a consequence of protecting himself.  Most of the student body assumed correctly that Kurt had something to do with Karofsky switching schools, but that was it—Kurt met each glare and threat from the football team head on until they eventually stopped.  It was a little bit funny, how powerful a simple word could be, when it was given to him from someone special.

And Blaine was special. 

Kurt had spent the last few weeks following the ‘big reveal’ of his human status going over that again and again in his head until he thought he’d make himself sick.  He figured he’d be angry that Blaine had concealed what he was for so long (barring the fact that Kurt wouldn’t have _actually_ believed him); Kurt had talked for hours about intensely private things because he had thought Blaine couldn’t understand him, being a cat.  Strangely though, Kurt wasn’t angry at all, though Blaine had not believed that at first and had done all matter of utterly adorable things to try and get back in Kurt’s good graces (and it had been so funny and cute to watch that Kurt didn’t have the heart to tell him he was never out of them).  If anything, Kurt was relieved—relieved that even after hearing the lowest of low points and watching Kurt struggle, he had no intention of going anywhere.  That kind of dependability—well, up until recently only is dad had ever made him feel that safe. 

There was a downside to this though, one that Kurt didn’t know how to stop, or even if he wanted it to stop.  Knowing that Blaine was a guy, a real live gay boy in Ohio to be even more specific, and not a cat, and spending more time with him knowing that, meant that now Kurt was starting to think about _things_.  Dangerous things, things that he hadn’t let himself think about seriously since Finn Hudson.  Things like if Blaine’s hair was as wild as his aunt’s or what color it was.  What his smile looked like and how broad his hands were.  What his laugh sounded like and, even more importantly, what his whispers and murmurs would feel like ghosting across his ear—he wondered if he would still like it if you pressed (kissed?) on the underside of his jaw or if that was just the cat instincts shining through.  He wondered if Blaine felt the same butterflies in his stomach and throat whenever Kurt was near—he wondered just how much of a fairytale he was actually in, or if Blaine was just a genuinely nice person who wanted to help Kurt (and no longer be a cat).

Kurt wondered a lot of things.  He wondered so much that he was starting to daydream enough that people took notice, and the people who took notice and knew him started to wonder why.  It wasn’t like Kurt could explain the situation properly (how on earth would you explain that you were slowly but surely falling for a boy he’d never seen and was currently stuck as a cat?), and he wasn’t even sure he wanted to if he could.  Blaine was like a well-kept secret he could keep away from everything else, someone he could keep out of the never-ending drama that was the New Directions, someone he could confide in, someone who understood.  Still, that didn’t help his problem of slipping off into daydreams where he and Blaine, fully human and pieces of Annabelle that he thought he might have in addition to the human features Blaine still wore as a cat, were together and had their very own happily ever after.  It was silly, he knew that, but he couldn’t help it.

He was falling for one Blaine Anderson, cat or no, and there wasn’t much he could do about it.  He didn’t know how to tell him, not stuck as a cat where Kurt would never be able to tell if his confession was truly received, or given because he thought that was something Kurt needed.  Even as a cat, Kurt knew that Blaine was too much of a giver and too polite to turn Kurt down, especially with the curse hanging over his head, if he truly only thought of Kurt as a friend.  He didn’t want Blaine as a good deed—he just wanted him.  And it was alarming how _much_ he wanted.  He barely even knew him and—and it didn’t even matter, not really, not where it counted; Kurt felt it in his bones.  As someone who tended to follow his head as opposed to any other allegorical organ in his body, it scared him how easily he had fallen for Blaine.  This wasn’t even close to the wispy feelings he’d had for Finn or Sam even—this was harder, sharper around the edges, and made his breath catch sometimes for no reason other than the thought of Blaine.

Kurt Hummel was very much in love with a guy trapped as a cat—which made Coach Sue Sylvester’s assignment to the Cheerios all the more tortuous (more so than her usual demands). 

“We are once again honoring the glory that is Madonna, now that Figgins lost his contact in the AV club and I am once again free to play her melodious music through the hallways filled with the simpering, drooling primates known as students.  And, in honor of Madonna, plus the convenient placement for this year’s prom being earlier than usual since Figgins is a greedy pig, I am once again reinstating the requirement for every Cheerio to bring a date younger than him or herself to the dance in two weeks.  Failure to comply will result in immediate dismissal from the squad…and then you will be pelted with rotten eggs so everyone can smell your shame.”

Kurt’s mouth dropped and the girls around him began to chatter at the rule; he couldn’t blame them, he’d be pissed if he had to take someone other than the person he was dating to the prom because of Sue’s random and violent streak of handling disobedience.  She dismissed practice and Kurt hurried forward through the throng of whining girls (and some whining guys) towards the podium.  “Um, excuse me, Coach Sylvester, I was hoping I could talk to you about your most recent mandate—”

“No exceptions, Porcelain.”  Sue smiled down at him, in that strange mixture of mean and kindly she had mastered, and crossed her arms across her chest as he felt his face start to harden and his eyes start to drop down into their best bitch glare.  “I was certain that you of all people would rejoice at this assignment.”

Kurt’s eyes narrowed further.  “And why would you think that?  I wasn’t planning on going to prom—bad things tend to happen to people like me at social events were all the simple-minded children gather together and get drunk on spiked punch.”

Sue grinned, not unlike a shark, and headed down the stairs of her podium.  “I’ll have you know, Porcelain, that I have supervised the McKinley prom every year since its inception—”

“That would make you nearly sixty.”

“—and my punch bowl has never been spiked.  And before you launch into your pity-party about how proms aren’t nice to all the little rejects out there, of which I fully included the mutants a part of Glee club and the gnomes hidden in Schuester’s hair, why don’t you ask yourself why you’re letting the common droves at this school dictate your life again.  I thought you’d finally let your spine grow a little, what with handling Karofsky and reminding his same-minded friends _exactly_ why I let you wear that uniform.”

Kurt blinked, surprised that amongst all the insults he could tell that she was actually giving him a sort of encouraging pep talk (sort of…well, pep talk enough for one Sue Sylvester).  And he was even more surprised that it was working. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to go to prom before but now—if he had the right person to go with—

“Ah see, I figured you had someone in mind.  You’ve had a sickeningly dopey expression on your face for the last few weeks; I figured it probably meant you’ve finally succumbed to the noxious parasite that is love.  And you know that if I decree that _every_ single one of my Cheerios is to have a date to the prom, anyone who tries to fight that will have to go through me, gelfling.”  She smiled at him, kinder now, the one she usually reserved for Becky, and patted him on the shoulder as she started to head back towards her office.  Kurt blinked, huffed a laugh and turned to call after her.

“So, it doesn’t really matter if they’re younger or not?  You just wanted to give me an excuse to be able to take a date to the prom?”

Sue turned and glared at him.  “Of course it matters that your dates are younger, did you not hear me through the Hallmark music buzzing around your ears?  We’re honoring Madonna and honoring Madonna means dating someone younger than you, for starters.  We’ll be talking about the conversion to kabbalah next week.”

Kurt blinked again.  “But-but what if the person I want to take, what if he can’t—”

“Can’t is a word of losers and state officials.  If you want something badly enough, Porcelain, you get it, no matter the obstacle.  Now, quit yelling after me—I’ve got some plotting to do against your Glee club and I’m getting bored with all of your questions.”  Sue disappeared through the gym door that led to her office, leaving Kurt, floundering just a little bit.  With the slam of the door, he was alone. 

Well, if ‘can’t’ wasn’t something he could think about, that left only the ‘how’ to get Blaine to complete his third good deed for Kurt and turn back to normal.  The problem with magic though, as he’d learned from Annabelle in the last few weeks, was that you couldn’t rush it, and you certainly couldn’t force its hand.  The third deed would be important and more than just fetching Kurt his favorite type of tea from the storeroom of Annabelle’s shop—and there was no way to tell when it would crop up.  But—but maybe he needed to start taking his own advise a little more personally, like Sue had suggested.  Maybe he didn’t know exactly what to say to Blaine but he knew that he needed to say something; maybe he needed to have a bit of courage in this aspect of his life too.  He hurried back to his gear, tucking the white snowdrop flower back into his uniform from where he’d kept it safe during practice.

He didn’t know what to do, but he was going to put his new found courage to the test—he rushed back to the locker room to change, calling his dad on the way that he’d be a little later home that night.  He had a cat to visit.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I know we have mentioned the importance of threes in this story a few times, but allow me to explain why they are so important.  Three is a special number, you see, and not only for the numerous and boring mathematical ones.  The Shield of Trinity and the Three Fates both have to do with threes.  And it most certainly mattered that there were three wise men, three patriarchs in Jewish faith, three jewels for Buddhists to travel through, and all different kinds of threes hidden in Christianity.  It represents stability; a beginning, middle, and end—but most of all, it it’s the Rule of Three that is most important to us in this moment.

Now, this rule is complex and has a long, involved history that doesn’t much pertain to our story, but what does matter is that for each bad or good thing you do, you are reciprocated that same bad or good thing in kind three times.  When Blaine agreed to the dark magic his Aunt Morgan offered, it took away the three people who had attacked him.  In turn, the magic cursed him three times, taking both of his parents and turning him into a cat (the hows and whys a cat was chosen is not really important, though I’m sure you’re wondering).  To get back what was lost, three good deeds were needed and not just any good deeds, but important ones, ones that reverberated and rippled into the future.

I’m sure you’ve been keep count so far, but allow me to refresh any memories that need reminding about what two very important good deeds Blaine has performed for Kurt thus far.

Firstly: a forgotten song that not only landed him a solo we all know was well-deserved but also helped remind Kurt that sometimes, no matter how low things can and do get, they do get better.  Singing a song that connected him to his mother, a song that glorified rebirth in all its tragedy and beauty had helped pull him out from the black hole he’d been spiraling in without really knowing it.  Getting a solo was really just icing on the cake.

Secondly: an inspiring word and feeling scribbled on a scrap of paper and delivered with only minimal cat drool.  Sometimes, when we’re frightened, whether it’s for ourselves, our loved ones, or both (and even sometimes the ones doing the scaring) we lose how strong we can be, we lose ourselves, as I mentioned before.  I think it was plain to see that after Karofsky kissed Kurt in that locker room, Kurt lost himself just a little bit and wasn’t sure how to find his way back.  Blaine knew all about that. 

If you’ve been following our timeline properly, then we can accurately determine that Blaine has been a cat since he turned fifteen, only a few weeks after the Sadie Hawkins dance, and thanks to my all-knowing powers as narrator of our story, I can tell you that Blaine is now sixteen and a half, meaning that he has been a cat for a year and a half, which gave him plenty of time to wrestle with guilt, anger, nightmares, and all manner of nasty thoughts and dreams.  Blaine also forgot who he was, and was almost content to be a cat for the rest of his days—and then he spotted a beautiful (because sometimes, handsome or striking or glorious just doesn’t quite capture the look and feel of a person) boy, man really, crossing the street after his aunt had finally dragged him out of the house.  The house where he’d been wallowing for much too long and drowning in his own black hole and would never find someone who needed three deeds to satisfy the magic to reverse the curse.

And when he saw Kurt Hummel hurry around to the secluded corner outside of Rosie’s shop, he felt the magic sing to him, sing of redemption, second chances, and maybe even love, if he played his cards right.  So yes, Blaine knew exactly what Kurt needed to hear, and he knew once he had that word stuck in his head, Kurt was going to be braver than Blaine could ever hope to be.  And he was.

So there we have it, a song and a word.  And what’s the third you’re all wondering?  Well, that would be telling, now wouldn’t it?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kurt drove to Rosie’s record shop at possibly law-breaking speeds, but he couldn’t convince his foot to lighten up on the gas pedal; it was just as nervous and excited as the rest of him.  He didn’t know if Sue’s ultimatum and subsequent sort-of-pep talk to him had blasted down his worries and fears or if it was his magic price (and maybe this was what it had meant all along) singing to him, but he needed to find Blaine.  He needed to tell him everything he’d been feeling the last few weeks and how much he meant to him—he needed to tell him he probably loved him and that if there was one thing in the world Kurt Hummel could use as a good deed, one thing that he needed above all else, it was Blaine.  His fears of rejection, humiliation, and the lingering feeling of self-doubt were all still there in his head, but they almost didn’t seem to matter anymore.  Or, at least they didn’t matter as much as telling Blaine mattered.

He reached the record store and parked across the street per usual; he left his Marc Jacobs satchel and gym bag in the car and locked it before he pocketed his keys.  He was happy he’d had a chance to change out of his Cheerio uniform before heading over, but a glance in the mirror made him wince at his hair, which wasn’t as styled as he would’ve preferred for declaring his affections to Blaine.  It would have to do though—if he went home, Kurt knew the courage and determination rushing through his veins in that moment would likely leave; everything felt like this was the moment, the one that he’d been waiting for.  He took a deep breath and headed inside the record shop, waving at Rosie from where she was checking out a customer behind the register.  She pointed surreptitiously towards the back and Kurt grinned a thank you at her.

He found Blaine listening to Katy Perry in the back, something Kurt was surprised Rosie even kept in her store; his tail was moving to the beat of _Teenage Dream_ and Kurt wondered, not for the first time, what Blaine would sound like singing.  He smiled softly down at him and felt a warmth bloom in his ribcage just watching him—he could see them doing this, he thought.  Laying on the floor of one of their bedrooms on their stomachs, hips and shoulders lined up together, their feet maybe tangled up in one another’s as they listened to their favorite music back and forth.  Kurt would argue the superiority of Broadway and list his love for anything by Kristen Chenoweth and Blaine would probably respond that Pink was a musical icon that deserved to be worshiped.  They’d argue, bicker playfully back and forth, and then maybe Kurt would lean forward just enough for Blaine to mimic the action and then they’d be kissing.  It was so right, just imagining it—they were meant for that.

Blaine’s ears flicked back and he turned his head, giving Kurt an excited meow in greeting.  He abandoned Katy Perry’s auto tuned voice and bounded over to him, purring and giving his calf a nudge in greeting; Kurt crouched down and scratched behind his ears, noting that Blaine was wearing the new bow-tie he’d made for him.  It was a deep cerulean blue that had small, yellow canaries all over the collar; ever since Annabelle had told him how Blaine was going to go to Dalton Academy before he was turned into a cat, Kurt couldn’t get it out of his head that they had been supposed to meet.  He mentioned about how he had almost gone to spy on the Dalton Warblers in the fall but had gotten cold feet at the last moment; if Blaine had never been turned into a cat and Kurt had gone, they would’ve met there.  He’d given him the bow-tie collar after that and said that he was Blaine Warbler now, since he had the Dalton club’s mascot all over his collar.  Blaine had purred with the strength of a motorcycle and his eyes had almost looked watery, even though Kurt knew cats couldn’t cry normally, not without an infection.

Kurt pet Blaine a few more times and then took a deep breath.  “Can you—will you come outside with me for a minute?  There’s something I want, need—I have to tell you something.”

Blaine’s ears flicked back a little in confusion and he meowed with a head bob.  Kurt smiled and got back up to his feet; they headed out of the store, another wave at Rosie as they left, and headed around the corner to their alcove.  Blaine hopped up onto the bench and Kurt took a seat next to him; his hands were clenched together on top of his jeans and he smiled, nervously, at Blaine.  He meowed again, this one a little lower, a little more worried, and Kurt let out a deep breath to try and calm his nerves. 

“Blaine I—there’s no way I could ever tell you how grateful I am for all of this, even though I know you being stuck as a cat isn’t ideal or the situation that lead up to that either but—what you’ve done for me, I just, I think it really did help me, even if I didn’t realize I needed it at the time.”  Kurt took another deep breath and Blaine watched on, his tail whipping back and forth, just as nervous as Kurt was.  Kurt let out a little laugh and turned fully towards Blaine, one hand playing with his collar a little. 

“At practice today, my coach kind of gave the entire squad an ultimatum, regarding prom.  I didn’t really want to go, not even to mock everyone’s outfits, but she’s having us honor Madonna again and we all need to take a younger date to stay on the squad next year.”  He smiled and gently tickled the soft fur under Blaine’s jaw.  “I think she did this mostly so I would have a Sue Sylvester guaranteed excuse to not only go, but bring a date too—she’s a lunatic, but sometimes she really is a good person.”

Blaine tucked his head down a little and Kurt could see how his little body seemed to cave in on itself at the words ‘date.’  He felt a surge of hope and confidence run through him and he nudged Blaine’s face back to meet his.  “There were a lot of reasons I never wanted to go but—but then I met you, Blaine.  You swooped into my life and became the best friend I never knew I needed and I—this is a lot harder to say, let me tell you!  You got off easy being a cat for this whole conversation.”

Blaine blinked curiously and Kurt took another deep breath, leaning down just enough so that his forehead rested against Blaine’s; he could feel Blaine tense up, but it wasn’t from disgust or rejection.  He was just as scared and nervous as Kurt was.  “There is only one person I want to take to prom, Blaine.  Only one and—it’s you.  I don’t even know how most of this happened still, and have a hard time wrapping my head around everything but I _know_ that this is right and I—I know you and your aunt said we can’t rush the third deed, that it would just kind of present itself whenever it was right, but maybe if you know how I feel, and you feel the same then maybe, maybe that’s enough.”

Blaine let out a meow that was more air than sound and Kurt lifted off so their eyes could meet.  “When the magic told me to give you a chance, I thought it meant about the whole curse thing but—but it didn’t.”  He took Blaine’s paw in his palm and held it gently, not caring that he probably looked ridiculous confessing feelings to a cat and holding his paw.  It was all Blaine really, so it didn’t matter.  “It meant give _us_ a chance, Blaine, you and me.  And I think that I can—you’ve given me so much that I think I can now.  I don’t know if that counts as a good deed or not, but I need you, just you Blaine.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Oh my God…he just…he said…

Yes!  He wants me, he feels the same and—yes!

I love him, Maiden, Mother and Crone, God, Buddha, Noodle Monster, I love him so much…how can I…?

He’ll see—he’s seen so much already and he’s so amazing he’ll see—

(Please see, Kurt, please see that I’m the same as you, that I want you and this just as much)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Kurt’s voice was little above a whisper as he trailed off, emotionally exhausted but light and full of hope; when Blaine let out a strangled sounding meow, his eyes blinking up gold and green at him with so much emotion and—love was there.  Kurt wasn’t sure how he ever missed it before, but there it was, plain for him to see.  Kurt laughed, bright and clear, and squeezed Blaine’s paw, bowing forward slightly; full-on gentleman pose because he knew Blaine would’ve done the same if he could.  “So, Blaine Warbler, would you go to prom with me?”

Blaine’s nose crinkled as if he was trying to laugh but couldn’t and his head bobbed yes.  He was still a cat, still not human and a proper date for a prom, but Kurt could feel something stirring in the air around them, something important, and he knew that telling Blaine had been exactly what he needed to do.  He laughed and wiped at his eyes with his free hand; he hadn’t even noticed that he had tears in them until now because he just felt so _happy._

But then—something dark passed overhead and Kurt felt a chill in the wind that was supposed to be absent during May in Ohio.  Blaine tensed and he looked up before snatching back his paw and hopping off the bench, tail whipping back and forth again; the hairs on his back raised tellingly; he flattened his ears and Kurt felt the happiness start to fizzle into worry.  “Blaine?”

Blaine turned and hissed at Kurt; he didn’t need translation for that.  It was a very clear stay back or stay here; Kurt narrowed his eyes and pushed off the bench.  “Don’t you dare hiss at me, Blaine Anderson.  If you think I’m going to just sit here while you head out into the street to see what’s going on, you’re supremely mistaken.”

Blaine growled deep in his throat, this time more of an angry plea, but Kurt ignored him and strode straight out of their corner and back onto the street; Blaine spat and hissed after him but didn’t try to stop him.  There really was only so much he could do as a cat.  The street was darker than it should be for the late afternoon; Kurt glanced overhead and saw there were angry, gray clouds covering the sunny day.  This wasn’t a freak weather storm, Kurt knew that instinctively.  This was magic, the bad sort; he felt another chill down his spine from the wind and glanced down at Blaine, who was the very picture of an extremely angry cat.  Kurt glanced towards Rosie’s and saw that there wasn’t a door to the shop—Rosie was looking out from her window and her face was white.  Kurt hurried up a little to Annabelle’s store and saw it was the same, no door, her face staring at them fearfully through her window.  She was pounding and trying to say something, but he couldn’t hear her.

A look up and down the street, which was empty of cars, including his own Navigator, told him that all the doors were gone; he felt something deep in his stomach and his breath caught in his throat.  “Blaine?  What’s going on?”

“Well, for someone who knows what magic is now, you’re not doing a very good job of recognizing it.”  Kurt whirled around and spotted a woman a few feet from them on the street.  She was dressed in black, but not enough to make her too much of a caricature villain, and had similar facial features to Annabelle, along with her dark, curly hair.  She was pretty, but her smile ruined everything—it was what Santana’s smile would look like if she didn’t have a soul and it contorted her face ugly.  He knew who she was without needing to ask.

“You’re his Aunt Morgan.”  She canted her head forward mockingly and Blaine hissed from beside him.

“Morgana, but close.  Tell me, was it the hair that gave it away?  It’s a Sanders trait.”

“What do you want?”  Kurt wished he had some sort of weapon other than his keys—what good was it practicing sais if he didn’t have them when it counted?

“Such a loaded question.”  She clasped her hands in front of her and casually strolled a little closer towards them.  Kurt took a step back instinctively and kicked out his leg to keep Blaine from charging in front (a method that was effective for only one try though; cats were slippery buggers).  “I want a lot of things, but mostly, in this moment, I really just don’t want my traitor of a sister to come back—and the only way to guarantee that is to make sure lover-kitty here doesn’t break his curse.  Unfortunately, that means bad things for you, Legolas.”

Did everyone have to insult him using elf terms?  Kurt only had a second to think that before a stream of gray, slightly sparking color rushed towards him—Kurt’s eyes widened and Blaine hissed so loudly it was almost a scream. He crouched down, throwing up his hands and cursing himself for being so stupid and careless.  However, nothing but cool air touched his skin; he looked up and noticed Morgana was frowning, looking at her hands as if they were foreign to her.  Kurt took a deep breath and shakily got back to his feet; he felt something poke at his chest as he did and then he remembered.  He opened his jacket just enough for a peek of white to come through—the snowdrop flower he had pinned to his coat.  He snapped his eyes back up and Morgana was staring at him; she must’ve noticed the glass flower too.

“I guess it really does protect from spells.”  Morgana’s frown deepened and she sent another blast of smoky gray sparks at him; the result was the same.  Kurt took another deep breath and felt the fear from before start to slip away.  “You should really just leave, and take you trailing cobwebs with you—seriously, who told you it was a good idea to rip up gauze, spray paint it gray, and pin it to the outside of your coat?”

Morgana’s face darkened a little bit more and then she turned her hand away and started murmuring something that sounded like Latin a little.  From her finger grew a sword, double-bladed and curving high at each end in opposite directions; Kurt felt fear start to trickle back in because while he was pretty confident the snowdrop would protect against spells directed at him, he was also just as sure that it would not protect him from being shish-kebabed. She noticed his face and gave a heartless chuckle. “I’m really not the sort to get my hands dirty, but I do admit, I don’t mind it from time to time.  And I think I’ll especially like getting a little dirty with you, darlin’.”

She rushed at him and Kurt hurriedly rolled to out of the way, putting his Cheerio training to good use, popping right back to his feet while he watched Morgana struggle to lift the blade back up.  She whispered another word against the hilt of the sword and a shimmer passed over the blade; she smirked and twirled it up and over her head without any problem after that.  Kurt stared for a second before she rushed him again; he dodged the same way and then tumble-rolled to his feet as she followed close behind.  He looked around, a little panicked, and tried to find something he could use to fight back with—sadly, all he saw was a single trashcan bolted to the ground.  She swung high and he dodged again, twirling out of the way faster than she could swing, but she expected the dodge that time and broadsided him with the hilt across his ribs. He heard them crack and he rolled to the ground, clutching them with a pained moan.  The sword may have been weightless to her, but it still felt like a sledgehammer hitting to him. 

He glanced up and felt his heart drop as she came at him again, but this time, she was halted by a flash of white that darted in front of her and started biting and scratching her leg.  She cried out and dropped the sword; Kurt could see droplets of blood falling from where Blaine was attacking her leg and knee.  She let out a particularly painful yelp and reached down to try and tear Blaine away; she eventually was successful, having opposing thumbs does help out in a fight, and tossed Blaine away.  Kurt felt something cold settle in his chest when he landed with a sickening thump.  He didn’t move from where he fell and Kurt felt angry, harsh tears build up in his throat and eyes.

“Blaine!  No…no no no, get up.”

“Little brat, should’ve been a declawed bastard.”  Kurt swung his eyes up to stare at her, watching her inspect her torn leg and not caring that she’d—that she’d just—Blaine still wasn’t moving and—

“Why are you doing this?”  Kurt choked out from where he was curled up on the ground, cradling his ribs which had to be broken.  “He never did _anything_ to you so why are you doing this?”

“Oh, he did something to me all right.  He was born!”  She picked up the sword from where it she’d dropped it and started back towards Kurt, her eyes the same pretty hazel color Blaine’s and Annabelle’s were, but they looked wrong in her face.  “Do you know what kind of lineage my sisters and I came from?  Ancient!  An ancient lineage that ensured magic was passed down from generation to generation through the power of three sisters.  We all knew that and Helena knew that too!  And what does she do?  She marries some yuppie with a law degree because she ‘loves’ him and then ignores me, starts thinking that I’m dark and misusing our gift!  Then, she convinces Annie of the same and suddenly I’m not welcome to their little witching hour pow-wows…and then she had _him.”_

She pointed at Blaine’s still unmoving form from where she had settled right over Kurt, sword in hand but not raised; Kurt could see his reflection in the double blades.  “She had a boy, not a girl!  She betrayed our entire ancestry all because her yuppie husband wanted a son!  Though, he got a gay son so I guess jokes on him, isn’t it?  She deserves to be locked away in limbo, stuck there with her precious husband, watching her spawn live stuck as a cat—that’s why, darlin’.  Aren’t you happy you got to ask that as your last words”

Kurt wished in that moment, as she tipped an imaginary hat at him and raised the sword, that he’d said goodbye or something to his dad, to Carole, Finn, and all of New Directions too.  He wished that Rosie and Annabelle and anyone else stuck in their shops didn’t have to watch this because he knew they were likely besides themselves.  He wished that Blaine would get up after this was all done.  He didn’t wish for his own life because that seemed pointless and selfish, but he wanted Blaine to live, he wanted him to be human again someday and—he watched the sword come down and started to close his eyes. 

Then—there was Blaine again, somehow up and moving and—and he was jumping right into the swords path, his neck replacing the empty space between Kurt and the blade.  Kurt screamed at him but then, all he could see was white fur, red, bright light and hear Morgana’s outraged scream.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Here’s the thing about stories.  They build and they build so that when we finally reach the top, it’s like we can finally see what all the building and heartbreak and hurt was for. 

Sometimes, it’s hard to decide if it was worth it or not.

But other times, it’s as if you’re finding someone for the first time, whether it’s on a staircase or mourning a dead bird (both equally valid ways this story could have happened) and all you can think to say is—

_Oh, there you are._

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When Kurt could see again, he was expecting to find parts of Blaine’s body covering him—it had partly been why he hadn’t wanted to open his eyes.  Tears were biting behind his lids and sobs were catching in his throat, but still, he had to know.  He opened his eyes, still curled up tight on the asphalt, and while he spotted quite a lot of white fur all around, there wasn’t any blood, or heads, or anything else he expected to find when he jumped in between Kurt’s body and a falling sword.  He blinked and pushed himself up with a wince and saw that all around him was white fur; then he looked up and saw, standing in front of him, the sword in his hand, was a young man with curly black hair that was shorter than Kurt had imagined.  He stared and rubbed at his eyes in case he was hallucinating, but there he was, human as ever.

“Blaine?”

“Kurt, can you do me a favor?”  Sweet noodle monster in the sky, his voice—Kurt could never have imagined a voice that gorgeous if he tried.  “Can you give me the glass flower for a minute?”

Kurt nodded, not really aware that Blaine couldn’t see, and reached into his coat lapel, grabbing the tiny flower from where he’d pinned it (he’d made a brooch out of it…it looked much better that way).  He cleared his throat and lifted it up, feeling his ribs twinge sharply as he did so; Blaine reached back and grabbed it without taking his eyes off the woman Kurt could see was writing in front of him.  Morgana—she looked like she was in a lot of pain but Kurt didn’t know why.  “Why is she—?”

“She’s feeling a little magical whiplash—now, let’s see, um—”  Blaine started to chant something that sounded like leaves and mist, deep and colorful but still a bit whimsy, and then there was a bright light shooting from the flower and cocooning around Morgana.  She went completely still and looked to be in a deep sleep.  Blaine let out a triumphant sound and Kurt watched as the dark weather and clouds cleared away and cars reappeared along with doors down the storefronts.  “I can’t believe that worked—I guess studying all those moldy smelling scrolls actually did—Kurt!  Are you ok?”

And just like that, there he was, kneeling down in the road and eye level with Kurt, who was staring and drinking in everything he saw.  Blaine wasn’t just handsome or attractive—he was blazing.  His hair was a mess of short curls on top of his head and his skin was a bright olive color; he had a strong jaw, big, firm hands, and the kind of face that 1950s movie actors would’ve killed for.  His eyes were the same, but they were brighter in his true face—Kurt couldn’t even talk about his mouth, or the hints of the smile and blush that was starting to form the longer Kurt looked.  He was so incredibly everything and Kurt couldn’t even begin—he loved this man, this amazing, selfless, brave man.  And, around his neck, was Kurt’s blue and yellow canary bow-tie, completely out of place yet still wonderful against the white pants and shirt Blaine was wearing.

“Kurt?  Are you ok?  I mean, of course you’re not ok, you were just in a death match with my crazy aunt and you’re clutching your ribs but—your just sort of staring.”

“I love you.”  Blaine blinked at him and then Kurt was gathered up tight, almost tight enough to hurt his ribs but not enough for him to want it to end, Blaine’s face buried into his neck and his hands holding him as if he was afraid Kurt would slip away.  Kurt couldn’t really move his arms, and he doubted he could with his ribs anyway, but he rested his hands against Blaine’s heart and just felt the heartbeat, let it ba-dump ba-dump against his lifeline until it really sunk in that this was Blaine and he was here.  “I love you and you jumped in front of that freaking sword!  Why would you—”

“The curse—it was because of the curse.”  Blaine pulled away enough so that their eyes could meet.  He looked dazed as he stared at Kurt’s eyes, as if he was trying to put a name to something and memorize it at the same time.  “Three good deeds, important ones—I figured saving you was a good deed enough to do the trick.  Your eyes they’re—I couldn’t tell before and now just—I love you too, I have for a long time.  Kurt, you saved me and you—I have so much I want to tell you and I can’t even find the right thing to say and—”

“I know the feeling.”  Kurt smiled and hiccupped around a happy sob, one born from stress and fear and relief.  “You saved me too.”

They stared at each other for a few more silent heartbeats and then, almost in tune, leaned in together until their lips were pressing together (Kurt first and then Blaine, almost as if he was waiting for Kurt to have his own terms this time which made his heart fall just a little more).  This was what Kurt had always imagined what a kiss that meant something was supposed to feel like: the warm, comforting slide of Blaine’s lips against his, the slightly odd taste in his mouth that could be catnip but Kurt didn’t care, the whoosh of his breath as it streamed through his nose so they didn’t have to break apart.  Blaine was tentative, as if he had never done this before (and probably never had), but so was Kurt and soon enough they were pressing bolder, sliding quicker, and moving hands all over until Blaine’s hands pressed a little too hard on his ribs.  Kurt winced and pulled away, Blaine’s lips chasing them down and murmuring apologies into his skin as he moved his hand. 

They kissed and kissed and kept on kissing, even growing daring enough to open their mouths and brush tongues a few times, until a voice from above them cleared her throat tellingly.  Blaine and Kurt broke apart and looked up as one, smiling up at the relieved and half-amazed looks from Annabelle and Rosie.  Blaine pushed himself to his feet, carefully helped Kurt up, and then wrapped his aunt up in a hug; Kurt watched how her face melted down into messy tears and he felt even lighter.  Rosie came up beside him to help him keep balance, her face looking like she had just seen the return of Elvis. 

“So, Blaine was really a kid, huh?”

“Kind of hard to believe I know—” Kurt started.

“Nah, not really.  He was way too smart to be a cat—boy should work on his acting chops a little.  I’m going to call your daddy, all right?  I think you need to see a doctor you and your boy there have got a few things to explain to him.”  Kurt nodded and Rosie winked at him as she sat him down on a street side bench before heading back to her shop. 

Blaine let go of his aunt and looked back to make sure Kurt was still near; he smiled open and happy and hurried over to sit down beside Kurt again.  Kurt took his hand and curled his fingers together with Blaine’s.  He sighed and rested his head down against Blaine’s shoulder.  “What happened to your aunt?  Morgana?”

“Call her Morgan, Kurt.  She doesn’t deserve any extra credit beyond that.”  Annabelle came over and leaned against the bench’s iron handrail.  “Blaine here used a handy charm with that glass flower and reversed it against my sister.  The snowdrop does bring luck and protection, but it’s also a vessel of a sort—it collects hope, no matter how small or frail.  Blaine used a reversal charm that essentially shot out all of the hope that little flower has been storing up in your coat pocket straight at her while she was going through a few years worth of magical back pay.  Funny thing about magic—it always catches up to you eventually.  Likes taxes really.  But, anyway, she’s taking a little nap—I’m hoping one long enough for her to wake up an old hag.  I can take her to our mother’s home, I’m sure she’ll be willing to baby-sit her.”

“I actually have a lot of questions but—I’m too tired right now.”  Kurt grinned a little sheepishly.  ‘But I do want to know—are Blaine’s parents all right?”

Blaine stared down at him, a mixture of wonder and amazement before he turned big, hopeful eyes up at his aunt.  “Are they ok?  Are they mad?”  

Annabelle smiled and wrapped an arm around Blaine’s shoulders in a quick, familial hug.  “Well, judging by the ecstatic phone call I received from your mother about twenty minutes ago letting me know how proud of you she and your dad were and that they were driving over to my store immediately from Westerville, I’d say pretty ok.”

Blaine let out a shuddering breath and Kurt tightened his hand around Blaine’s; he felt Blaine’s lips press a soft and grateful kiss to his hair before squeezing back.  Annabelle arched her brow at the pair of them before she clapped her hands and pointed at the still wrapped up Morgan.  “I’m going to get this one ready for pick-up—call me when your dad gets here Kurt, I’ll help explain some things.”

Kurt grunted out an acknowledgment as she left.  He and Blaine sat there for a few minutes in comforting silence before Kurt found another question he needed an answer to.  “How did you know you’d be ok, with the third deed?”

Blaine didn’t answer at first, which was really all the response Kurt needed, but he found the words anyway.  “I didn’t but—I couldn’t let you die.  I figured it was worth a shot.”

Kurt huffed and pushed up so he could look at Blaine.  “I want to hit you, but I think it would be just a tad bit hypocritical—I was hoping you were alive and that if I was out of the way, she at least wouldn’t hurt you anymore.”

Blaine looked like he wanted to say something, or cry, so Kurt leaned back in and kissed him until he relaxed again.  “Well, I guess we’re both a bit stupid.”

“Maybe.”  Kurt grinned and twirled a finger around one of Blaine’s curls; Blaine’s nose scrunched up adorably at it.  “You’re a little shorter than I pictured.”

“I’m—?”  Blaine barked out a laugh and his eyes lit up like gold.  “I throw myself in front of a sword for you and that’s how you thank me, insulting me?”

“I like it—I like all of you.”  Kurt’s words were shy and his cheeks bloomed red; he didn’t mind because so did Blaine’s.  Then, Blaine grinned and shuffled a little closer on the bench, taking Kurt’s hands in both of his and tucking them under his chin.

“I think I finally figured out what I wanted to say.”

“Really? What?”

Blaine leaned in close and whispered before kissing him again.  “I’ve been looking for you forever.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Once upon a time, there was a prince and a princess; the princess was cursed to be a white cat by evil Fey who wished her to marry a troll.  To become human again, she had to find someone who would trust her and allow her to grant them three boons.  The prince was one such person and after he had been commanded by his king to find a beautiful maiden for his queen, he went to his white cat and begged her to come with him.  He loved her, even though she was a cat, and that was how she knew he trusted her, and she could trust him.  She asked that he cut off her head, and asked that he trust her enough to believe that she would come to no harm if he did so.  The prince did as he was asked, the princess changed back into a human, and they lived happily ever after.

This time, our story is instead about two boys, both cursed in a way and broke free of that together, who in the process of saving themselves and each other became young men.  True, there was a cat and an evil witch and monstrous dragons and three good deeds, but it was about something more than happily ever after. 

I know that there are a multitude if loose threads here that we simply cannot spend time on.  You see, the reason for that is because each thread is its own story, just waiting to begin.  The story of Blaine and his father reconciling, of the Sanders sisters, of Burt’s introduction to Blaine (and Blaine’s subsequent introduction to the Hudmel family), why Morgan was so angry Blaine was a boy and not a girl, these are all important stories in their own right, but they are not our story.  Suffice it to say that each of those loose ends are quite entertaining and satisfying in their own right and let’s leave it at that.

I’ve blathered on for quite a bit in this story, so I leave you now with only one more snippet—Kurt and Blaine are certainly enough of a closing for you, I think.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Surprisingly enough, things went relatively back to normal once Blaine turned back into a human.  Yeah, he still had an odd liking for fish that he definitely didn’t have before, and bits of string and laser–like lights tended to distract him, but for the most part, things were back to normal and if you didn’t know it, you wouldn’t be able to guess anything out of the ordinary had even happened.  Things were better than before: his mother was completely open with him about his heritage (which he had apparently inherited if the reversal spell was any indication) and things were getting better with his father; his Aunt Morgan was no longer a looming threat and his Aunt Annie could start living her own life again instead of worrying about everyone else’s; he had a wonderful, gorgeous, compassionate boyfriend whose family was something on the side of amazing.  He grinned as he finished combing the last bit of gel into his hair, styling it so that his fro wasn’t too unmanageable but his curls still shone though (Kurt liked the curls…a lot), and glanced up at his reflection in the mirror.

It was still weird to him, seeing his face and not the cat after a year and a half; he wiped his hands on a damp cloth before he began touching and poking around his face.  He looked older, which was a huge relief; he’d feared that if the curse was ever lifted, he’d turn back into his 15 year old self as opposed to whatever age he was supposed to be.  He took his thumbs (and wow, had he taken those for granted before; thumbs were freaking awesome) and pushed at the corners of his eyes, pulled at his cheekbones and rubbed up into his forehead.  It would take some getting used to but he was pretty sure eventually the sight of his own face wouldn’t be weird anymore.  He straightened up and inspected his tux in the mirror.  Classic without being too boring, it was your standard black tux, white undershirt and cuffs, but the suit itself had almost a metallic sheen to it.  He wore the blue bow-tie with the yellow canaries as well.

“Blaine!  Sweetheart, Kurt’s at the door!”  Blaine took a deep breath and couldn’t fight the grin off his face before he headed out the doors, taking the steps quickly with some of the feline grace he still had from the curse.  Yes, he was a little apprehensive about going to the prom, when the last time he’d gone to a dance it had ended so horribly, but everything that had happened after, everything that Kurt helped inspire within himself, made those worries minimal in comparison to his excitement.

Especially with the news he had to tell Kurt.

He got to the bottom of the stairs of their new home in Lima (his parents had been extremely understanding about needing to be closer to Kurt…he also suspected that they had been separated from him from too long and were willing to do just about whatever they needed to in order to see him more often) and flashed his father a small, happy grin, which was returned a little shyly.  His mother was cooing over Kurt and once Blaine turned fully into the room, he could see why.  Kurt was wearing what he could only identify as a kilt with a deconstructed suit jacket on top.  He had leggings on and big, heavy boots that softened and hardened the look all at once; his hair was teased into a messy, side-swept pompadour.  His eyes nearly glowed when they landed on Blaine, and Blaine felt his breath catch—it was dangerous how _much_ Kurt made him feel all the time.

“Hello there, handsome.”  Kurt teased in lieu of a greeting.

Blaine tried to come back with something witty, but in the end, he was only able to say the truth.  “You’re beautiful.”

Kurt blushed a little and fiddled with some of the looping accents on his outfit; Blaine reached out and took his other hand, placing a small kiss on the juncture between his thumb and index finger.  His mother cooed some more and pushed them together to take some pictures, chattering away as she did; Blaine was happy that she was so happy.  His father came in to stand beside her and smiled at them as well—he was still adjusting, but God he was trying so hard and that made Blaine feel like the luckiest guy in the world when he added it to everything else he had.  After his mother took what had to be fifty pictures, she allowed them to leave, both her and his father alternating between warnings, curfews, and well-wishes for fun.  Kurt was giggling as they left the house and headed towards his Navigator; they shared a few chaste, unhurried kisses once they were inside before heading off to Breadstix to meet the other couples in New Directions they were going with.

Blaine liked most of the other Glee club members, but sometimes they were a little too much for him all at once—he’d gotten used to solitude and quiet as a cat and they were definitely the opposite of that.

“You really do look amazing,” he told Kurt softly.  Kurt preened and glanced down at his outfit for a moment before focusing back on the road.

“You think so?  It’s homage to the late Alexander McQueen—my dad thought it was a little over-the-top.  He was worried it would stir up the bad sort of attention.”

Blaine shrugged and laced his fingers through Kurt’s free hand on the console.  “Maybe it will, but it’ll be nothing we can’t handle, right?”

Kurt glanced at him and hummed contently in agreement.  They drove in silence for a little bit, something they were comfortable in even though a part of them knew that they were already much too deep for so early on in the relationship.  It was different for them though, Blaine thought.  They hadn’t met under normal circumstances; their feelings and love were caught up in magic, curses, and bound in promises to each other (and magic’s invisible pay ledger).  Blaine knew what they were anyway, and he was fairly sure so did Kurt—soul mates didn’t have to play by anyone’s rules but their own as far as either of them were concerned, and even if their peers had doubts, their parents (and Aunt Annie) knew.  They had the whole story, after all.

“So, what was this big news you had to tell me?  I hope it’s not a last minute decision to go to Dalton Academy—I can’t imagine your parents liking that commute after they just moved here.”  Blaine smiled at the teasing lilt in Kurt’s voice and shook his head.

“No, it’s something better.  You know how I missed all of my sophomore year and half of my freshman year when I was stuck as a cat, which meant I would probably have to start at McKinley two grades below you?”  Kurt nodded, his lips pursed at the unpleasant thought.  Blaine smiled and waited until they were at a red light so he could turn Kurt’s face towards his own.  “Well, I took some placement exams at McKinley and supplemented it with some online classes I took during the curse, don’t ask how I typed up essays as a cat…it was a painstaking process, but anyway my point is that I placed high enough to technically be considered a senior.”

Kurt blinked and opened his mouth without making words a few times.  The car behind them honked as the light turned green and Kurt hurriedly started the last few hundred feet towards the Breadstix parking lot.  Blaine laughed and watched Kurt’s brain work through his announcement as he parked and they both got out of the car.  “So, you tested as a senior…you’re going to be in my same grade?”

“I’m going to be in your same grade.  I had a lot of free time to read and study ahead as a cat cooped up in a house.”

“So, you’re graduating with me?”

Blaine laughed and took Kurt’s face in his hands.  Kurt wrapped his arms around his waist and Blaine leaned forward until they were separated only by a couple of spare breaths.  “I’m graduating with you.  Which means that after, if you still want me too, I’m going to New York with you.”

Kurt stared, then squealed and pressed a hard, happy kiss to Blaine’s lips, uncaring of any looks they got in the parking lot.  Blaine smiled into Kurt’s lips and kissed him back, wrapping his arms around Kurt’s shoulders and careful not to tease his hair.  Kurt broke away and tucked his face into Blaine’s neck before mirroring Blaine motion from before, cradling Blaine’s face and staring at him as if he was the most brilliant thing on the planet.  The stare made Blaine feel heady and wanted.  “That’s—that’s so—thank you, Blaine.  I hated the thought of us being separated and now—I can’t believe you did that.”

“I love you, I didn’t want to be separated either.”  They held onto each other for another few moments, just until they could feel people starting to stare at them a little too long.  They stepped away and shared a happy, in-love glance before taking hands and walking into the restaurant. 

Blaine knew that things weren’t perfect still.  They were still in high school in Ohio, where people were prejudiced and didn’t understand.  They were still young and prone to make mistakes as they navigated the waters of what it meant to be with someone intimately, which he kenw they both thought about but weren’t ready to pursue yet.  They’d have trials and tribulations as they left for New York and collage and whatever life had in store for them later on.  Magic would still probably try to muck up their lives, and they would have to tackle those problems as they came.  But, even though there were so many factors to consider, so many things waiting out there to try and tear them apart, Blaine knew that no matter what the obstacle, he and Kurt would overcome it.  The magic had promised them to each other, and when you made a promise like that with magic, it was one that knotted itself deep within your soul and never let go.

“Ready for the auditory onslaught that is New Directions?”  Kurt quipped lightly. 

Blaine smiled and squeezed Kurt’s hand tight as they stepped through the doors, ready to weather battles and tackle their journeys with the hands held and fingers intertwined.  “Ready.”

_ La Fin. _

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